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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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THE 



GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



By J. D. BELL. 



"We are all of us richer than we think ; but we are taught to borrow 
and to beg, and brought up more to make use of what is another's than 
of our own." Montaigne, Essays, Book III., Chap. XII. 

" O foolish men ! they sell their inheritance (as their foolish Mother 
did hers), though it is Paradise, for a crotchet." 

Carlyle, TJie Diamond Necklace. 



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New York : 
PUBLISHED BY T. Y. CROWELL, 



NO. 744 BROADWAY. 



< 



COPYRIGHT, 

1878, 
By John D. Bell. 



Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 
19 Spring Lane. 



MY COLLEGE MATES OF THE CLASS OF 1855, 

FROM WHOM, TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO, 
I PARTED AMID THE 

CLASSIC SCENES OF AMHERST, MASS., 

AND OF WHOM MANY HAVE BECOME EMINENT IN SPHERES OF NOBLE 

USEFULNESS J COMRADES AFORETIME WITH ME, NOT ONLY IN 

STUDY AND YOUNG ASPIRATION, BUT ALSO IN THE 

PLEASURE OF A MUTUAL ENDEARMENT, WHICH 

WAS SUCH THAT " NOTHING WAS SO NEAR 

TO US AS ONE ANOTHER ; " 

TO YOU 

&I)is Volume is Jfobinglg g^bitateb, 

AS A TOKEN OF THE HIGH AND HEARTFELT ESTIMATION WHICH, IN 

YEARS OF TOILS AND STRUGGLES, SORROWS AND JOYS, ITS 

AUTHOR HAS CONSTANTLY PLACED ON THE GENEROUS 

AND WARM FELLOW-FEELING WHEREWITH (HE 

HATH BEEN WELL ASSURED) YOU 

HAVE EVER KEPT HIM IN 

REMEMBRANCE. 



PREFACE 



We live in unexampled years. The current period 
is one of amazing human intensities, and of astonishing 
triumphs of energy and enterprise. In no by-gone time 
was there such successful pursuit of science, such 
crowned inventiveness, such multiplication of advan- 
tages on the material side of civilization. And } T et few 
are they that are becoming more excellent, more con- 
tented, more serene, more happy. Men are immersed 
in the senses. Health is either sacrificed to utilitarian 
concentration, or immolated on the altar of Fashion. 
Individuality — that key to freedom from mental mendi- 
cancy — is lost in imitation. Frivolity renders thought 
impotent and sentiment shallow. Assumed refinement 
has the place of genuine courtesy. People (as saith 
Tennyson) " whisper, and hint, and chuckle, and grin at 
a brother's shame." There is an unfortunate "weaken- 
ing of the power of imagination, as well as of the power 
of faith — those two great sources of motives to excel- 
lence of character and perfectness of life." Politics, 
philosophy, art, literature, economics, social life, all 
seem pointed toward " the vale of the Salt Sea," rather 
than toward " the Olive mountains." 

And this is the reason why : The progress and the im- 
provement which mark the period are continually with- 



VI PBEFACE. 

out men, and only slightly within them. There is need 
of something to break the spell of Utilitarianism whereby 
mortals are bound, and to open glimpses of better, 
sweeter, grander possibilities. Hence this volume, which 
is a plea for that great fortune of man — his own nature. 
Bulwer says, " Strive, while improving }^our one talent, 
to enrich your whole capital as a man." The present 
work is designed to aid in securing the result thus rec- 
ommended. It is a contribution toward heightening 
men's valuation of those natural inheritances, the body 
and the soul, with all the specific dowers which they 
include, and toward fitting men to experience not only 
nobler stirrings and ardors, but also a continual cheer- 
fulness — that which is affirmed by Montaigne to be " the 
most certain sign of wisdom." It illustrates the truth 
(taught by Madame de Stael in her Corinne) that the 
hearth of human happiness can exist nowhere but in the 
secret sanctuary of the human breast. Perchance it will 
prove a means of checking the pernicious communistic 
tendencies of the passing time — tendencies which have 
their origin in a discontent, as blind to the dignity of 
human nature as it is dead to the divine fatherhood. The 
book is not exhaustive, but suggestive. We send it 
forth, trusting that it will find its way into the hands of 
many readers, and that every one who reads it will gather 
from its pages something like that lesson expressed by 
Horace Bushnell : ' ' The greatest wealth you will ever 
get, will be in yourself." 

J. D. B. 
September 1, 1878. 



CONTENTS 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 

CHAPTER I. 
THE BODY. 

PAGE 

I. The Master-Form among Organisms 3 

II. Conscientious Abuse of the Body 13 

III. Physical Sins 21 

IV. Health 24 

V. Fast Life, as related to Invalidism 35 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE SOUL. 

I. Our Self-Knowing Substance 43 

II. The Soul knowable only by Way of its Phenomena . 49 

III. The Soul's Inner Phenomena — How Perceived . . 52 

IV. The Outer Phenomena of the Soul : Works of Great 

Men 54 

V. The Soul's Revealings of Itself through the Body . 63 

VI. Opinions as to the Soul's Nature 72 

VII. Definitions of the Soul 92 

VIII. The Innate Dignity of the Soul 96 

IX. The Distinctness of the Soul from the Body .... 100 

X.. The Soul the Real Human Self 108 

XI. The Capabilities of the Soul Ill 

vii 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

XII. The Endless Improvability of the Soul 118 

XIII. The Immortality of the Soul . 127 

XIV. The Value of the Soul 139 

XV. The Needlessness of Stationary Mediocrity .... 151 

XVI. Self-Disrespect, and what comes of it 1G0 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE IMPELLING CAPABILITY; OR, THE POWEE OF 
PUSH. 

I. That whence springs all True Perseverance .... 177 
II. A Comparison, as to the Impelling Capability, be- 
tween the English and the Americans 188 

III. Great Impelling Capability indispensable to Great 

Triumphs 199 

IV. Relation of the Impelling Capability to Success in 

Common Life 205 

V. Relation of the Impelling Capability to Human Joy . 211 

VI. Excesses of the Impelling Capability 214 

VII. Summation 219 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 
CHAPTER IV. 

INFLUENCE. 

I. Its Succession of Generations 223 

II. Silent Expression 22G 

III. Words 232 

IV. Deeds 246 

V. Particular Illustrations of Sowing and Reaping in 

Life 249 

VI The Secret of the Immortalization of Endearment . 2G4 

VII Life and Influence Inseparable 2G9 



CONTENTS. IX 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 
CHAPTER V. 

PRESENCE AND THE PRESENCE-FORCE. 

I. The Secret of Personal Impressiveness 275 

II. Personal Atmospheres : their Dissimilitude 282 

III. The Eye, as connected with Presence 296 

IV. The Weighty Presence 314 

V. Relation of Independent Self-Exertion to Presence . 320 

VI. Fitful Concentration of Personal Energy 324 

VII. Unimpressive Engagedness 327 

VIII. Chaotic Discomposure 332 

IX. The Effect on Presence of Fashion and Frivolity . . 335 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 
CHAPTER VI. 

KNOWING HOW TO BE ONE'S OWN. 

I. As related to Inner Luminosity and Noblemanship . 343 

II. Individuality 352 

III. Masterfulness and Tenderness 373 

IV. Desire of Exertion 378 

V. Decision, Determination, Resolution 385 

VI. Independence of Thought 400 

VII. Originality and Creativeness 405 

VIII. Socrates 420 

IX. Thoreau 425 

X. Lincoln 433 

XL Dempster 442 

XII. The Master-Soul 449 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 



" This breathing house not built with hands." 

Coleridge. 

" The body — the house no eye can probe." 

Robert Browning. 



THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



Chapter I. 
THE BODY. 



I. 

THE MASTER-EORM AMONG ORGANISMS. 

" That superior mystery, 
Our vital frame, so fearfully devised." 

Wordsworth. 

Significant is the fact, that, in literature, sacred 
as well as unsacred, there occur numerous references 
to the corporeal structure of man, which plainly im- 
ply a profound respect for that living, throbbing 
fabric. Take some examples. Both Jesus and St. 
Paul speak of it as a " temple ; " that is to say, 
a building highly excellent and solemnly superb. 
Milton indirectly pays a special tribute to it, in those 
lines in Paradise Lost, where, breathing a plaint on 
account of what his blindness denied him, he uses 
the oft-quoted words, " human face divine." Nova- 
lis, not content to call it simply a temple, says: 
" There is but one temple in the world, and that is 
the body of man.*' Thomas Dick affirms that " the 
system of organization connected with the human 
frame is the most admirable piece of mechanism 
which the mind can contemplate." 

3 



4 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Great, indeed, is the change when one turns from 
such attributive expressions to allusions in which 
there is ascribed to the body only a small importance, 
only a little majesty. Shakespeare makes Hamlet 
call it " this mortal coil." In Jean Paul's Titan it is 
spoken of as a " chrysalis shell." The disciples of 
Pythagoras were wont to term it the soul's " tent," 
and the disciples of Plato were accustomed to repre- 
sent it as the soul's " vestment." And St. Paul, in 
one place, designates it as "this tabernacle," thus 
conveying the impression that it is, after all, a thing 
of minor consequence. 

What, now, shall be said of the two classes of ref- 
erences? Is there ground for both of them? Is 
it true that the body is something really fine and 
noble, like a temple, and at the same time true that 
it is an inferior thing, like the crude wrappage of a 
chrysalis, or the fading hut of coarse cloth inside 
which the traveler tarries ? In response, I affirm 
that, when viewed in comparison with the soul, 
the body is obviously inferior, and deserves only a 
faint praise ; whereas, when viewed in comparison 
with other vitalized earth-forms, it has a supreme 
rank, a sovereign nobility. This explanation opens 
a clear path. Let us, courteous reader, enter it, and 
go on therein for a little while, seeking to know to 
what extent entitled to high regard is that visible 
part of the natural human fortune — the pulse-stirred 
house in which the soul resides. In beginning this 
inquiry, it is of course to be supposed that the body 
is all itself ; or, in other words, that it has neither 
been deformed by bad habits, nor corroded to thin- 
ness by slow-devouring disease. We are to consider 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 5 

it, not as a blighted, broken, half-ruined structure, 
but as a sound organic frame. When Selim the 
First, the subduer of Eg}^pt, led his host of warriors 
through Syria, though he was one of the most cruel 
of conquerors, he permitted the beautiful gardens 
about Damascus, in the vicinity of which his army 
was encamped, to lie untouched by the hands of his 
soldiers. Those gardens were open to view, and were 
in a subjugated land ; but the troops, by reason of 
the effectiveness of the military discipline, remained 
aloof, not daring to invade and to ravage the attrac- 
tive grounds, because they had not received from 
their commander the signal of plunder. In like 
manner, for at least a period of years, the body lives 
and flourishes, with its vital strength unimpaired by 
reckless invasion, and its comely proportions unde- 
spoiled by withering ravage. And so, forsooth, it 
would continue to live and flourish, during per- 
haps a whole lifetime, did not the careless mon- 
arch Self, unlike even that cruel Oriental conqueror 
who spared the fair gardens about Damascus, so 
often let all wholesome discipline relax, and give 
the signal of plunder to a swarm of wayward pro- 
clivities. 

Now, to know what the body is before it has been 
overrun and pillaged by any of the ruthless fora- 
gers — Thoughtlessness, Intemperance, Foolhardi- 
ness, Vanity, Passion, Lust, Superstition, austere 
Devotion, and the rest — is surely to have made an 
estimable attainment. Never should it be forgotten 
by the one who would worthily occupy his entire 
being, that when the Creator built up in the womb 
of nature man's form, He did not rear a poor and 



6 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

mean structure, but erected a frame of such supe- 
rior^ among physical objects, that human artists, 
in all the great ages of the world, have ardently vied 
with one another in giving it representation on can- 
vas or in marble. The body of man, though com- 
posed of earth-elements which were one in essence 
with " the dust of the ground," grew up a hand- 
some achievement of organizing power, a " fine con- 
texture of solids and fluids." The completion of it 
marked the commencement of an extraordinary cycle 
of terrestrial history. That body stood among myri- 
ads of living forms without a peer. It was the pre- 
eminent visible ornament of the world. It was the 
most dignified and most interesting compound of 
material atoms that had appeared in all the stupen- 
dous aeons of earthly change and progressive devel- 
opment. 

Respecting the high rank which belongs to the 
body before its inner courts have been reached and 
its secret treasury has been rummaged by Vandal 
invaders, one may obtain a clear and abiding impres- 
sion by comparing this frame with the other verte- 
brate frames which are presented to view in the 
animal scale. Certainly the principal spine-possess- 
ing organism is that of man. His vertebral parts 
are so arranged as unmistakably to fit him for an 
upright position both in standing and in walking. 
They make it easy for him to look toward heaven. 
It was, perhaps, for this reason the Greeks gave him 
the name ftvOgajnog, which the author of an ancient 
grammar derives from two words, signifying, when 
taken together, "to look upward." The poet Ovid 
declares that God, in providing as He did for the 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 7 

elevated carriage of man's face, designed that he 
should scan the realm of the stars : 

"He set man's face aloft, that, with his eyes 
Uplifted, he might view the starry skies." 

The hands of man are beautifully contrived for per- 
formances of executive cunning. The feet of man 
are skillfully fitted both for supporting with ease his 
erect organic trunk, and for elastically bearing it 
along its way. 

Now, it will be found that all the other vertebrate 
animal frames are strikingly inferior in arrangement 
to that of man. Unlike the latter, they are adapted 
for a posture habitually un erect. Honest old Mon- 
taigne is in error when he good-naturedly ridicules 
our prerogative of bodily erectness as that which 
" the poets make such a mighty matter of," and 
when he intimates that other animals "in their nat- 
ural posture discover as much of heaven and earth 
as man." Says a learned scientist, " Man is the only 
mammiferous animal to which the erect position is 
natural." And evidently, if it is not natural to any 
other mammiferous animal, it cannot for a moment 
be presumed to be so to any animal of the non- 
mammiferous orders. Every known creature infe- 
rior to the human species — whether it be oviparous 
or viviparous, whether aerial or terrestrial, aquatic 
or amphibious, whether an ostrich or a camel, a long- 
necked giraffe or a quick-limbed monkey — has a 
structural arrangement which fits its head for a down- 
ward rather than for an upward bend and bearing.* 

* The author of the Fifth Bridgewater Treatise (Dr. P. M. 
Roget), after remarking that man presents the only instance 



8 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

The fish has two pairs of coarse organs called fins* 
instead of two finely formed hands and two cun- 
ningly constructed feet. The bird has in its two 
wings a sort of fingerless hands, and has for feet a 
pair of rough-fashioned extremities consisting mostly 
of toes. The beast has no hands, but has four feet, 
which are either hoofs or paws ; and the serpent has 
neither hands nor feet, but is " a mean, abortive 
creature, which the angry motherhood of nature 
would not go on to finish, but shook from her lap 
before the legs were done, muttering ominously, 
4 Cursed art thou for man's sake above all cattle ; 
on thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat 
all the days of thy life.' " 

I shall conduct my reader but little further in 
the present path of inquiry. A long discussion does 
not seem to be necessary to show the rank which the 
body holds among organized structures, before it has 
been invaded, plundered, and impaired. Doubtless 
it will be sufficient to add to what has already been 
said, a comprehensive statement of the conclusion 
relative to the subject, which reason finds itself 

among the mammalia of a conformation by which the erect posture 
can be permanently maintained, and that to this intention the form 
and the arrangement of all the parts of the osseous fabric, as 
well as the position and the adjustments of the organs of sense, 
have a clear reference, adds, in a marginal note, the much-mean- 
ing statement : "In most quadrupeds, as we have seen, the thorax 
is deep in the direction from the sternum to the spine, but is com- 
pressed laterally, for the evident purpose of bringing the fore limbs 
nearer to each other, that they might more effectually support the 
anterior part of the trunk. In man, on the contrary, the thorax 
is flattened anteriorly, and extends more in width than in depth, 
thus throwing out the shoulders, and allowing an extensive range 
of motion to the arms." 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 9 

brought to deduce, and to set down under the same 
a summary of the leading arguments which consti- 
tute its support. 

The body, when uncheapened by the infirmities 
and the exhaustions of an invalid state, or when 
breathing and throbbing in nature's own condition 
of soundness, has a superior excellence and an im- 
pressive importance. In other words, it is a finely 
wrought and nobly qualified frame — the very mas- 
ter-form among mundane organisms. And for these 
reasons : 

It is higher in order than any other living material 
form with which mortals are acquainted. 

In the first instance of its appearance on the globe 
it was the last-created organism in a distinctly pro- 
gressive series of organic frames ; and consequently 
it inherited the rank of a masterpiece. 

Its upright attitude, both in standing and in walk- 
ing, betokens natural dignity and superiority. 

It is the only visible living organism that is adapted 
for articulate speech, and for the achievement of great 
triumphs in mechanical and in beautiful art. 

By reason of the distinguishing peculiarities which 
it presents to view, according to sex and to age, — 
now as the stately form of the adult man, provided 
with strong bones, firm sinews, and well-set joints, 
and now again as the smooth, rotund, graceful form 
of the full-grown woman ; at one time as the lithe, 
robust frame of the gallant stripling, " whose glory 
is his strength," and at another time as the delicate, 
tripping, charming frame which has "the sweet clean- 
ness of the high-bred maiden," — it is the one organ- 



10 y THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ism which, above all others, has, in every period of 
civilization, made poets eloquent, inspired painters 
and sculptors, interested philosophers, and raised to 
a passionate glow the admiring feelings of chaste 
lovers. 

It is, during the soul's stay on earth, its suitable 
habitation. That it is, as a habitation, well fitted 
for its occupant, we are to infer from the fact that 
there is in nature no such instance of incongruity 
as that of two things made for each other, and yet 
having no fitness the one for the other. The body 
is the house of the soul, because nothing but itself 
would have answered the demands of the case. Ac- 
cordingly, it is to be presumed that the body has an 
importance, bearing some clue proportion to the ex- 
alted importance of the soul. 

It is, withal, the soul's suitable organ and suitable 
•mirror or revealer. This is an argument for the 
nobility of the body, which there is no difficulty in 
being able to comprehend. The soul needs the 
body as an instrument whereby to develop itself, to 
improve itself, and to express itself. Had ifc been 
made to grow up on earth in a form similar even to 
the most excellent specimen of existing organisms 
other than the one chosen for it, it would have been 
at an unspeakable disadvantage. It was suggestive- 
ly remarked by Helvetius, that " had the hoof of a 
horse been joined to the human arm, man would yet 
have been wandering in the woods." See how it is 
with the lower vertebrates ! No qualification what- 
ever have they for the expression of fine sensations 
or emotions. Esdaile says, that, though they are 
abundantly able to show anger or rage in their coun- 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 11 

tenances, they can scarcely reveal in them any feel- 
ing but that. The clog can indicate his inclination 
to fawn by nothing better than the wagging of his 
tail and the consequent motion of his body. The 
face of the brute animal, even when it is dying and 
when it is dead, hardly manifests a single important 
change of any kind on its part. " A salmon," says 
the writer above named, " looks as well when dead 
as when alive." Here, also, are some of his words : 

" There is an expression in the human countenance of which we 
.can scarcely observe a vestige in any of the brute creation. The 
blush of modesty or of shame — the paleness of terror — the ani- 
mation of joy dancing in the eye — the depression of grief, pro- 
ducing a monotonous relaxation of features — the pensive softness 
of love — together with a thousand other varied feelings, are all 
depicted on the human countenance, and give it an expression 
which both conveys intelligence and suggests signs by which we 
are enabled to render such intelligence permanent and useful." 

From infanc} r to old age, the soul depends largely 
on the body in educating its own capabilities. 
Among the teachings of that sublime exponent of 
"ideal realism," Professor Schoberlein,* there are not 
a few weighty outgivings on this point. The body is 
essential to the soul, as a means of intercourse with 
other souls. Without it there could be no actualized 
acceptance or rejection by the soul of particular ob- 
jects. It is also essential to the soul as a means 
whereby to attain to adequate self-consciousness. 
It enables the soul to objectify itself, and thus to 
distinguish, in a sufficient manner, between itself 

* See his work, Die Geheimnisse des Glaubens, Heidelberg, 1872, 
of one division of which a translation is presented in the Methodist 
Quarterly for October, 1877. 



12 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

and other entities. The body is, moreover, an organ 
indispensable to the soul's progress in the acquisi- 
tion of knowledge and experience, and in the pro- 
duction of a true character, since by it the soul is kept 
in the requisite communion with the multitudinous 
ever-changing relations of the material and the spir- 
itual worlds. Concerning the importance of the body 
as the soul's medium of self-revelation, the same pro- 
found theologian teaches that man plainly expresses 
his disposition and character in his body on earth, 
and will do likewise in eternity ; that the human 
soul is so in need of a body that, in default of one, it 
would, wherever it might be, lack an element essen- 
tial to its wellbeing ; that bodilessness implies per 
se a hinderance to free self-revelation ; that in order 
to the full enjoyment of selfhood, it is " necessary to 
bring the ideal fullness of the mind and the heart to 
full outer expression ; " and that accordingly the soul 
will need and will have a body in the future state — 
will, forsooth, take with it, when it departs into that 
state, a germinally-existing spiritual form, which 
amid an appropriate environment will at length at- 
tain completeness. 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 13 

II. 

CONSCIENTIOUS ABUSE OF THE BODY. 

" What power of prince or penal law, be it never so strict, could 
enforce men to do that which for conscience's sake they will vol- 
untarily undergo ? " Buktox, Anatomy of Melancholy. 

" Farewell, a long farewell to thee, Arran of my heart! Para- 
dise is with thee ; the garden of God within the sound of thy 
bells. The angels love Arran. Each day an angel comes there to 
join in its services." St. Columba.* 

I AM to set in array some painful points, apper- 
taining to wrongs conscientiously done to the flesh 
for the supposed good of the spirit. That quotation 
from Columbkill, or Saint Columba, the hermit of Ar- 
ran, a bleak, wild island outside Gal way Bay, in the 
Atlantic, — Saint Columba, who could sing a plaintive 
farewell on leaving the spot where, " with the wind 
whistling through the loose stones, and the sea-spray 
hanging on his hair," he had abused his body for 
what he thought to be the welfare of his soul, — is 
certainly not pleasantly suggestive. 

The story of religious austerity is a dismal one, 
for it is the story of " inhuman wisdom." I shall 
not attempt to relate it, but shall simply place before 
the mind of the reader some of the things which 
give a pitiful remarkableness to its contents. 

There have been persons, not a few but many, 
who conceived it to be their duty to withhold all re- 
spect and all culture from their organic frames. Cu- 

* Words of his when summoned from his dreary hermitage to 
be bishop of Iona. 



14 THE GREAT SLTGHTED FORTUNE. 

rious is the inquiry, how the God-created form has 
been, under imagined divine approval, abused, — 
how men, hungering and thirsting after what they 
sincerely believed to be righteousness, have cruelly 
denied it and oppressed it, macerated and marred 
it. In prosecuting this inquiry, one quickly meets 
the general fact, that body-abusing saints, more 
than ten thousand in number, have miserably lived 
and thankfully died. Having kindled in themselves 
a quenchless zeal against their own corporeal sub- 
stance, they defied their nerves, despitefully used 
their physical members, quarrelled with their vital 
breath, and went out at last as candles do that have 
burned down, in discolored and disfigured candle- 
sticks. 

Whole classes of men can be named that were 
characterized by an unremitting antagonism against 
the body. The Essenes, a sect of religious people 
who dwelt in Palestine in the first century of the 
Christian era, were led by their creed to reduce 
their fleshly nature to an abject inferiority, and to 
rule over it as with a rod of iron. Their principal 
settlements were situated on the northwest shore 
of the Dead Sea. They were distinguished by a 
one-sided, fanatical aspiration after ideal purity and 
communion, — an aspiration which carried them into 
states of visionariness and into courses of excessive 
self-denial. They maintained that religion consists 
in nothing but silence and contemplation ; held the 
dogma of the malignity of matter ; contemned the 
body as the source of all evil passions ; and sought, 
by inflicting on it various mortifying severities, to 
secure a high degree of sanctity to their souls. They 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 15 

acknowledged the law of Moses, bat regarded the 
Pentateuch as allegorical and full of hidden mean- 
ings. In their devotion to mysticism and solemn 
reverie, to retirement and silence, to misleading 
notions and mischosen practices, they withheld 
themselves from nearly all the harmless pleasures 
of appetite, and kept their defenseless frames de- 
pressed under the yoke of a cheerless thralldom. 
The great Teacher who arose in their time, and who 
shone on them 

" Like stars upon some gloomy grove," 

practically indicated that he had no sympathy 
with them in their peculiar opinions and customs. 
Though, out of regard for their calm virtue, and of 
that disposition on their part which withheld them 
from opposing the progress of his religion, he did 
not openly reprehend them, yet he carefully avoid- 
ed every species of austerity which they made it 
their care to practice. By participating in the inno- 
cent festivities of life, as in the case of the marriage 
celebration at Cana, he set an example, which is an 
ever-abiding reproof for conscientious extremists^ 
who, like them, think they are adding to their spir- 
itual excellence when they are diminishing their 
physical vigor. 

The Gnostics, a sect that disseminated their heret- 
ical notions in the second century, were not less 
directly nor less habitually than the Essenes, body- 
abusers. They maintained that matter is an inde- 
pendent, active principle, altogether evil in its nature, 
and the centre and the source of all that is bad, cor- 
rupt, hateful. This, they believed, produced the 



16 THE GIIEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

globe. They held that it is inimical to everything 
good ; that it is a foe to the Supreme Being and to 
the soul of man, and that the latter would be ever 
pure, were it not clogged and burdened therewith. 
The body, in their view, restrains the soul's inherent 
energ}^, hinders its progress toward heavenly attain- 
ments, and imbues it with its own gross and malig- 
nant properties. They believed that the mission of 
Christ was to break the dominion of matter ; and 
they claimed that his body was not really material, 
but was destitute of corporeal organs, was incapa- 
ble of pain and anguish, and was a physical entity 
only in appearance. They discarded the doctrine 
of the resurrection. Their conscientious abuse of 
their vitalized frames was life-long and incessant. 
They were unwilling to confer on their outer nature 
favors or helps, and were averse to fortifying it 
against accident or disease, fearing lest any efforts 
to protect it, or any outlay on it of fostering care, 
should result in damage to the soul. The austerer 
ones among them practiced a withering abstinence. 
They scorned to indulge even in the most innocent 
animal enjoyments. They declined to marry, and 
deemed it hurtful to the soul to associate with 
women. Withdrawing- from all circles of worldly 
society, they passed their days in penitential sobrie- 
ty, in silent dreamful thought, and in prayer. Such 
were the peculiarities, such the modes of body-abuse, 
which distinguished all the more rigid representa- 
tives of that sect. 

The most famous of primitive fighters against the 
body was, perhaps, Simon Stylites, the Syrian ascetic 
of Antioch, who lived for thirty-seven years on the 



THE WONDEKFUL HOUSE. 17 

top of a pillar, which was gradually raised from the 
height of six cubits to that of forty. When he had 
attained to the last-named altitude, and had become 
wonted to its airy perilousness, he thought that his 
body lacked little of being conquered, and that his 
soul was pretty nearly sanctified. In the fifth cen- 
tury there were certain monks in Palestine, of whom 
some dwelt in little dens just large enough to hold 
their bodies, and some went to the desert, and there, 
like the beasts, walked " on all four," and ate grass. 
St. Jerome refers to a noted religious man who by 
too much kneeling had contracted a hardness in his 
knees like that in the knees of camels ; and Saurin, 
speaking of some of the conscientious body-abusers 
of early times, represents them as having wrought 
cavities with their knees in the floor of the places 
where they were accustomed to pray. 

There were the Flagellants, an order of would- 
be holy men, who used, from time to time, to give 
their bodies a sound whipping, that they might 
make their souls pure. There was Hilarion, who so 
reduced his corporeal fabric by fasting, that his skin 
almost ceased to cleave to his bones. He could not 
sleep without the help of vapors ; and, " for want of 
sleep, became idle-headed, heard every night infants 
cry, oxen low, wolves howl, lions roar (as he 
thought), clattering of chains, strange voices, and 
the like illusions of devils." And there was Godric, 
a saint of the twelfth century, who constantly wore 
an iron shirt next to his skin ; who mingled ashes 
with the flour whereof his bread was made, and then, 
lest his body should be nourished too much by that 
food, kept it for four months before eating it ; who 
2 



18 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

in winter often passed the whole night in prayer, 
with his body up to the neck in water ; who some- 
times rolled his naked form through briers, and im- 
mediately afterward poured brine into his wounds. 

The religious devotees of India, known as fakirs, 
are living instances illustrative of the extent to 
which persons can superstitiously, yet conscientious- 
ly, abuse their fleshly substance. One of them, now 
a missionary helper, spent nearly forty years of his 
lifetime in a place of seclusion, where he compelled 
his body to remain, during much of that period, 
within the confines of a few feet. Many of them 
make long pilgrimages to sacred cities, temples, or 
fountains, performing the same in modes resulting in 
constant physical suffering. Some of them, in trav- 
elling, use appliances for torturing their feet, and 
some measure the distance with their bodies, by con- 
tinually lying down and marking their length on the 
ground. One who was journeying thus was rigidly 
careful, as often as he stretched his almost naked 
body on the hot earth, to place his feet where his 
nose and mouth had indented the sand and dust. 
Some of them hold the fist tightly clenched from 
year to year, till the finger-nails actually grow 
through the hand. An iron spike is thrust by some 
of them through the tongue. Some of them turn the 
head to one side, and continue it in that position 
till it is drilled into retaining it, with the eyes look- 
ing nearly backward. Often there is an instance 
in which one of them is seen hanging his head for 
hours over a slow, smoking fire, and repeating this 
act daily for whole months and even for years. Some 
of them refuse to sit or to lie down for years, and 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 19 

meanwhile oblige themselves to take sleep with the 
body in a standing posture. Some of them prostrate 
themselves again and again on sharp upright nails, 
till their forms are shockingly pierced and torn. By 
some of them dancing is practiced, with threads, 
canes or bamboos passed through the side ; b}^ others, 
the body is exercised in swinging over a fire ; and 
by still others, it is put to the task of climbing, un- 
shielded by any clothing, a tree bristling with fright- 
ful thorns. 

Victor Hugo, in his work entitled Les Miserables, 
tells of the abuse perpetually inflicted on the body 
by the Bernardo-Benedictine nuns. It is well worth 
while to try to imagine them as leading the life 
which he describes. They abstain from meat all the 
year ; fast frequently ; arise from sleep from one to 
three in the morning, to read their breviary and to 
chant matins ; sleep through all seasons in serge 
sheets and on straw; never bathe; chastise their 
frames on every Friday ; keep themselves for most 
of the time silent ; never speak except in a low 
voice ; and never walk save with their eyes fixed on 
the ground. They perform what is called by them 
the " reparation," which is a penance for all the sins, 
faults, irregularities, violations, iniquities, and crimes 
that are done on earth, and which consists in re- 
maining on the knees for twelve consecutive hours, 
from four in the evening till four in the morning, on 
the stone before the Holy Sacrament, with the hands 
clasped, and a rope around the neck. Those nuns 
never use a brush on their teeth ; for, in their idea, 
" cleaning the teeth is the first rung in the ladder 
at the foot of which is 4 losing the soul.' " 



20 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

It is true, that author's description is an account 
of conscientious body-abuse as it was practiced in a 
convent half a century ago. But who will say that 
such modes of it as he recounts have become ex- 
tinct? Who will aver that there are not to-day, 
even in civilized lands, numerous instances in which 
the body is drained and deformed by inflictions of 
penance ? Travelers who pass from the high and 
fair-skied region of Pueblo in Colorado, to Santa Fe, 
that hoary old city of New Mexico, see along their 
way, heaped up in one spot and another, the heavy 
wooden crosses which representatives of an order 
of religious Mexicans (the Penitentes) periodically 
carry on their shoulders, running as they do so, and 
the grounds over which they go dealing out upon 
their naked flesh, at every step, penance-lashings, 
that draw and scatter their blood.* Thus there is 
proof that the Flagellants who figured in a former 
century on European soil, are equalled in " inhuman 
wisdom " by men living at this hour in the wide 
land of the Americans. 

* Some of them, at the recurring times of their pious orgies, 
are seen with cumbersome chains about their feet, and some with 
long ropes about their necks, by means of which others pull them 
hither and thither, as they attempt to make progress. And it is a 
fact that some of them at such times are seen bearing on their 
naked backs uprooted cactus plants as large as a bushel basket, 
and bleeding from the wounds made by the sharp and venomous 
cactus thorns. On some occasions they have (so it is reliably de- 
clared) an actual crucifixion ! 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 21 

III. 

PHYSICAL SINS. 

" A man does wrong to the great and omnipotent Giver, to re- 
fuse, disannul, and disfigure His gift." 

Montaigne, Essays, Book III., Chap. XIII. 

Concerning injuries willfully done to the corpo- 
real structure, it is not difficult to determine what 
is to be condemned, and what is to be approved. 
Civilized sense — that uncapricious decider as to the 
reasonableness or the inconsistency of theories and 
of practices — gives in relation to such points a 
trustworthy verdict. It distinguishes between a 
proper and an improper subjection of the body to 
the soul. It -defines the extent to which one can 
justly limit, deny, repress, subject to hardness, or 
put into a suffering state, his physical sj^stem. It 
answers the question when hostility to the frame is 
indefensible, and settles the inquiry when reduction 
and depletion of it are inexcusable. 

Civilized sense confirms those lessons of Herbert 
Spencer, that the preservation of health is a duty, 
and that all breaches of the laws of health are phys- 
ical sins.* Rejecting the old-time hideous doctrine 
of the malignity of material substance, it favors the 
improvement of the body by care and culture. It 
is at war with all austere piety, all ascetic abnega- 
tion, all marring of the visage and maceration of the 
form, as methods whereby to attain to a sublimated 
purity. It is unfriendly to virtuous grimness and to 

* See his work on Education, Chap. IV. 



22 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

dreary devoutness. No propitiousness has it for 
the abstinence which pinches, or for the indulgence 
which enervates. It is opposed to making the body 
breathe into itself the vitiated air of ill-ventilated 
rooms ; to the long tasking of it in shop, in store, or 
in field ; and to the much feeding of it at tables set 
off with complicated temptations to the appetite — 
a practice by which thousands of persons are sowing 
in their physical nature the seeds of indigestion 
and misery. Cotton Mather gives an account of a 
thoughtful man who, being at the bedside of a dying 
physician, asked him how he could most effectually 
preserve his health and prolong his life. The reply 
of the expiring son of iEsculapius was, " Do not eat 
too much." Civilized sense is in accord with this 
advice. Almost does it approve that act of the 
crabbed philosopher, Diogenes, who, seizing hold of 
a young man that was going to a feast, carried him 
back to his home, as one whom he had prevented 
from putting his body in dangerous circumstances. 

Civilized sense is opposed to the fashionable noc- 
turnal party, to the dissipating whirl of the night- 
dance, and to all the stupefying gratifications which 
belong to voluptuous, to Epicurean, and to bacchanal 
life. It is shocked by the fact that in the United 
States a billion of dollars are annually spent for 
strong drink and tobacco.* It agrees with the judg- 

* The people of this nation annually madden their brains with 
two hundred millions of gallons of intoxicating liquors, and not 
only stupefy and defile themselves, but transmit irritable nerves 
and contaminated blood to their children by the consumption of 
more than thirty million dollars' worth of tobacco. Of this im- 
mense sum, ... it is estimated by Dr. Cole, an able writer on 



THE WONDEEFUL HOUSE. 23 

ment of Montaigne, who pronounces the loathing of 
natural pleasures an injustice equal to that of being 
too much in love with them, and who declares in- 
temperance to be the pest of pleasure, and temper- 
ance to be, not its scourge, but its seasoning. 

Civilized sense — being versed in the practical, 
schooled in the rational, and well instructed in the 
sesthetical and the moral, and having a clearness 
which age cannot dim, and a freshness which change 
cannot lessen — is to be recommended especially to 
the young, as a safe guide respecting the treatment 
due the body from its birth till its death. Appeal 
to it, thou young man and thou young woman, and 
it will be found to afford a solid basis for counsels 
such as these : 

Behold thy God-made form ! Molded and fash- 
ioned it was to stand beneath thy soul, and to enable 
the same to become developed. It is the medium 
through which thou receivest precious knowledge. 
So linked to thy mental nature is it, that to abuse 
the one is to abuse the other. Cultivate thy body 
and thy soul; but cultivate not the latter at the 
expense of the former, nor the former at the expense 
of the latter. Thy frame is a transcendent form 
among forms. It deserves not insult and assault, 
but respect and honor. Therefore, be wise in thy 
treatment of it. Suitably protect it against wind 
and tide, the blow of accident, and the germ of dis- 
ease. So help and foster it, that it may walk the 
earth not crouchingly, but erectly ; not with the 

Physiology, that the memhers of the Church of Jesus Christ take 
five million dollars' worth for their share." 

Horace Mann, Inaugural Address at Antioch College. 



24 THE GftEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

step of languid deficiency, but with the step of com- 
petent strength. Use it as an instrument of self- 
education, of good works, and of innocent delights. 
In short, so control, so manage, so cherish, and so 
exercise it, that it may be, throughout thy years, a 
fit organic abode for the intelligent creature thou in 
thy very self art. 



IV, 

HEALTH. 



" Why does a blessing, not till it is lost, cut its way like a sharp 
diamond so deeply into the heart ? Why must we first have la- 
mented a thing, before we ardently and painfully love it? " 

Jean Paul, Titan, p. 463. 

According to Sir James Mackintosh, there is 
but one condition of the body in which mortals are 
capable of receiving pleasure from without ; and, it 
is that which is known by the name — "health." 
With the usual evidences of its presence all men are 
familiar. One of them is a vitality plenteous as the 
fatness of a fruitful soil. Another is a ruddy glow 
of the countenance, resembling the hue of roses seen 
in the light of morning. But what need is there to 
continue to particularize ? Let it suffice to say, that 
he whose body is in health has a vivid unlikeness in 
look, in tone of expression, and in manner of motion, 
to " the yellow sicklings of the age." 

Health is the prime of wholeness, the exuberant 
thrift of the vitals. Rich is he who has health ; poor 
is he who has it not. " The heir of a sound cousti- 



THE WONDEEFUL HOUSE. 25 

tution," says Dr. Reid the metaphysician, "has no 
right to regret the absence of any other patrimon} 7 ." 
Herbert Spencer declares that " chronic bodily dis- 
order casts a gloom over the brightest prospects, 
while the vivacity of strong health gilds even mis- 
fortune." And another writer affirms that " good 
bones are better than gold, tough muscles than silver, 
and nerves that flash fire and carry energy to every 
function, are better than houses and lands." 

But a strange thing to say is it, that health, not- 
withstanding its unspeakable importance, is never so 
well prized as when it is contemplated after its for- 
feiture, or when it is remembered as a blessing that 
has taken its flight. Where are the instances in 
which this precious thing is duly appreciated while 
it is enjoyed ? Not the pointed arguments and admo- 
nitions contained in hygienic journals, nor the special 
instructions conveyed in physiological treatises, nor 
the practical lessons dropped from the tongues of 
gifted lecturers on the body and its liabilities, are 
sufficient to keep able-bodied people from under-esti- 
mating their health. The fact is, such people, taken 
in general, refuse to make health a subject of much 
study or care, till they have ceased to possess it. In 
the Mosaic delineation, the first pair are pictured as 
having failed to appreciate the primeval estate, till 
they had lost it by sin. In the Christian parable, 
the five foolish virgins are represented as having re- 
garded with indifference the opportunity they had 
of providing oil for their lamps, till the pressure of 
the midnight need was on them, and they were 
doomed to be " late, so late ! " 



26 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

" 'Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! 
Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still ! ' 
' Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now.' 

" ' No light had we ; for that we do repent, 
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent.' 
' Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now.' 

" * No light, so late ! and dark and chill the night. 
O let us in, that we may find the light ! ' 
' Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now.' 

" * Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? 
O let us in, though late, to kiss his feet ! ' 
'No, no! too late! ye cannot enter now.'" 

Tennyson. 

In like manner a thousand and a thousand per- 
sons, now blessed with a vigorous bodily condition, 
will come to estimate it as they should, not while 
they are able to call it their own, but when they 
shall have imprudently let it pass away, and shall 
be painfully eager to recover it. health ! simple 
boon from God to man, without which no one can 
take sweet delight either in the brightness or in the 
bloom of nature, — " vital principle of bliss," more 
worthy of esteem than the inheritances of princes, 
and more entitled to honor than all the glory of 
a pomp-loving world, — how little do short-sighted 
mortals prize thee, before thou hast withdrawn thy 
balmy presence from thy native dwelling-place ! 

It is saddening to think how much the loss of 
health has to do in teaching people to be mindful of 
its value. When all else has come short of bringing 
the reckless self-gratifler to consider what he owes 
to his stomach and his circulatory machinery, to his 
brain and his nerves, this proves effectual. It is 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 27 

nature's last recourse, in her endeavor to put an end 
to his excesses. What readiness it gives him in 
bearing testimony to the preciousness of a sound 
constitution ! It causes him to regard poverty itself, 
only so it be accompanied by bodily vigor and elas- 
ticity, as no mean allotment, and to account the 
sweating toiler by the roadside, who wears on his 
cheek the rosy sign of hale blood, and who wields 
his arms with the effectiveness which goes with ade- 
quate physical force, as far more fortunate than the 
wealthiest invalid in the world. 

But let no one suppose it is necessary for him to 
lose his health in order to learn how to estimate it. 
Vital strength may be properly prized before it has 
taken its flight. Provision may be made before the 
bodily functions have become disordered, for secur- 
ing a long-continuing regularity, briskness, and pain- 
less thoroughness to them. 

The poet Spenser alludes to a man who was led 
by fair speech to " spoil the castle of his health ; " 
I would lead people by sound speech to guard the 
castle of their health. And to this end I present 
a number of plain and straightforward suggestions. 

Food and drink should be taken, not merely to 
appease hunger and to pacify thirst, but ever with a 
view to providing for the waste of bodily tissues, 
and for the expenditure of bodily heat. Hence, the 
supply to the frame of the one and of the other 
should be according to the amount of such waste, 
and the measure of such expenditure. 

Eating should not be done hurriedly, nor in the 



28 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

incontinuous manner occasioned by a succession of 
gastronomic courses, nor at irregular seasons, nor 
within half an hour after fatiguing physical or men- 
tal exertion. 

There is a practical significance in that saying of 
Sir John Hunter: "Some will have it that the 
stomach is a mill, others that it is a fermenting vat, 
and others that it is a stewpan ; but in my view of 
the matter, it is neither a mill, a fermenting vat, nor 
a stewpan ; but a. stomach — a stomach ! " 

Nourishment for the hody should not consist in 
animal flesh, nor in starchy substance, nor in oleagi- 
nous matter alone ; but it should comprise, at every 
important meal, portions of each of these three kinds 
of aliment. 

Food should not be taken when there is no 
demand for it on the part of one's appetite. 

There should be neither under-feeding nor over- 
feeding. Of the two, however, the latter is less 
injurious to the body than the former. Even Hip- 
pocrates, the ancient physician, teaches this ; for he 
plainly represents the damage resulting from too 
sparing a diet as much greater than that which 
springs from the practice of those who " feed liber- 
ally, and are ready to surfeit." 

When there is a change from a low diet to a 
highly nutritive one, it should in all cases be 
gradual. 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 29 

Food should not be taken in a concentrated state, 
but in such a prepared form, that, along with what 
is combined with it to give it volume, it will suita- 
bly distend the stomach. 

The taking of a full meal at a later period of the 
day than at least two hours before bed-time, should 
be scrupulously avoided ; for a practice it is which 
not only deprives one of brain-refreshing sleep, but 
which exposes his body to be tormented, when in 
a helpless state, by the power of grim nightmare 
specters. 

During the period of eating at the table there 
should always be a cheerful exercise of the mind 
and the heart. All somber thoughts should be 
driven away, and all gloomy feelings should be 
forced to subside. No sighs should be heaved, no 
melancholy cares or forebodings should be manifest- 
ed. Animated, sprightly conversation, interspersed 
with occasional ejaculations of harmless merriment, 
should be carried on from the commencement till 
the close of the meal. 

After every season of eating there should be an 
interval, not of sleep, but of rest ; and it should 
never be shorter than half an hour. 

Persons who perform much intellectual labor 
should use for food articles which are specially rich 
in albumen and the phosphates ; that is to say, they 
should eat eggs, fish, oysters and other shellfish, 



30 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the lean parts of beef and mutton, and bread made 
of wheat flour. 

Animal flesh in the roasted, baked, or broiled 
state, is much more flavorous and stimulating as 
food, than when it has been boiled or fried. 

Oleaginous or fatty food should be used habitually 
by all persons who have inherited a predisposition 
to consumption ; and even those who are free from 
such a tendency should, according to the conclusion 
recently arrived at by scientists, use such food con- 
tinually and in considerable quantities, by way of 
preventing pulmonary disease. 

Food, when taken into the stomach, should be 
almost at blood-heat. 

Neither ice-water nor extremely hot drinks should 
ever accompany the taking of nourishment. 

Tea and coffee, by reason of containing an invig- 
orating principle akin to that of quinine, are whole- 
some daily tonics. They should, however, be taken 
with milk, on account of the tannin which is in them. 

The edibles which are commendable as articles of 
general diet, are bread from the flour of any one of 
the staple cereals, but more especially from that of 
wheat; rice; beans; peas; potatoes (when accom- 
panied by animal nourishment) ; milk (an article 
better fitted for the body while it is growing than 
in the years of its adult stature) ; beef (if it be not 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 31 

too old) ; pork (for persons of robust digestion) ; 
mutton ; eggs (of which a smaller bulk than of any 
other food " will," says Cullen, " satisfy and occupy 
the digestive powers of man ") ; butter ; cheese 
(if always taken along with some coarser food) ; 
animal oil, or fat ; broths and soups ; sugar (in mod- 
erate quantities) ; the asparagus, the cabbage, and 
other succulent vegetables ; onions ; pulpy fruits, 
such as the apple, the peach, the fig, the pear, the 
currant, the raspberry, the grape, &c; fish ; oysters; 
lobsters ; the flesh of birds of the gallinaceous fam- 
ily ; salt ; vinegar ; and, withal, buttermilk, that acid 
which is so cooling and so beneficial to the body in 
its heated or feverish states. 

The preparations of nutriment should not be com- 
plex. " Simple diet," says Pliny, " is the best." 
When king Archilaus pressed Socrates to cease dis- 
coursing on the streets of Athens, and come and live 
with him in his splendid abode, the philosopher saw 
what but few who have been plied with a similar 
temptation have cared to let themselves see — that is, 
the almost certain forfeiture of health as the result 
of compliance ; and he suggestively remarked, " Meal, 
please your majesty, is a halfpenny a peck at Athens, 
and water I can get for nothing." Addison declares 
of the table of fashion, " set out in all its magnifi- 
cence," and exhibiting its medley of rich rarities and 
high-seasoned compounds : " I fancy that I see gouts 
and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with other innu- 
merable distempers, lyiug in ambuscade among the 
dishes." 



32 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

It is hurtful to inhale impure air, and particularly 
hurtful to inhale air which has once been expelled 
from the lungs. Hence cesspools and decaying mat- 
ter should not be allowed to exist about dwellings ; 
and all occupied apartments, especially school-rooms 
and audience -rooms, should be amply ventilated. 

Persons whose lungs are small or weak should 
avoid exposure to low degrees of temperature, as 
well as being in rooms heated above sixty-five 
degrees. 

In breathing, care should be taken to fill all the air- 
cells of the lungs ; and, to become accustomed to do 
this, one should learn to respire in a quiet manner, 
and not too frequently. 

One should beware of standing or sitting with any 
part of the body exposed to a piercing or chilling 
draft of air. 

One should keep his mouth, as the dumb animals 
are wont to keep theirs, closed, except when there 
is some real occasion for doing otherwise ; and he 
should make it his custom to breathe through those 
proper avenues to the larynx, the nostrils. 

No part of the body should be compressed by 
clothing; and such clothing should be worn as will 
prevent the sudden loss of bodily heat in cases of a 
sudden subjection of the frame to a lower tempera- 
ture. As to quantity of apparel, the true rule is to 
wear just so much as will fail to create oppressive 



THE WONDEEFUL HOUSE. 33 

warmth, and as will suffice to prevent any general 
feeling of cold. 

Intellectual activity should be maintained, as a 
method of keeping the brain in a healthy state ; ex- 
ercise should be taken daily in the pure open air ; 
and the body should not only be bathed frequently 
in cold water, but should be made to receive much 
direct sunlight. 

Sleep at night should be in proportion to the 
amount of brain-work done during the day. In cases 
of persistent wakefulness, the strictest regularity 
should be practiced in retiring and rising. No one 
should take sleep either in the sunlight or in the 
moonlight. 

It should be borne in mind that (as Herbert 
Spencer observes) " happiness is the most power- 
ful of tonics." Let no one, therefore, think of liv- 
ing without it. All people need for their health's 
sake to rejoice and be glad. Not to be extolled is 
that saying of Antisthenes, " I would rather go mad 
than experience pleasure." If pleasure be rightly 
compounded, it is happiness ; and he who stoically 
refuses or cynically scorns to be happy, is to be con- 
sidered as in danger of becoming mad. Certainly, 
such a one cannot be deemed to be in very high 
health ; for the absence of happiness implies the ab- 
sence of health. 

Profitable will it be to remember some of the say- 
ings of wise and worthy Montaigne concerning bodily 
3 



o4 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ways — more especially those which were his own. 
The most usual and common method of living he 
pronounces the most becoming, and recommends 
that all particularity be avoided. He objects to late 
suppers, maintaining that digestion goes on better 
when one is awake. He remarks that from his 
youth he had the custom of being out of the way 
occasionally at the time of some meal, either to 
sharpen his appetite or to preserve his vigor for 
some service of body or mind. " I never keep my 
legs and thighs," he says, ''warmer in winter than 
in summer." To dull the whiteness of the page 
before him, he used, when he engaged in reading, 
to lay a piece of glass on his book, and he found it 
to be a relief to his eyes. Of pleasures, he teaches 
that " a man should neither pursue nor fly, but re- 
ceive them." He avers that when he danced, he 
danced ; when he slept, he slept ; and when he 
walked alone in a beautiful orchard, if his thoughts 
were at some part of the time taken up with extrin- 
sic occurrences, he at some other part of the time 
called them back to his walk, to the orchard, to the 
sweetness of the solitude, and to himself. Of fogs, 
he says he feared them ; and of smoke, he declares 
that he flew from it as from a plague. 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 35 

V. 

FAST LIFE, AS RELATED TO INVALIDISM. 

" We tread upon life's broken laws, 
And murmur at our self-inflicted pain." 

Whittier. 

The most potent destroyers of vital soundness and 
vigor, at the present day, are the unnatural wants, 
the acquired gnawing appetites, the lawless desires, 
and the prodigal passions which render life (to use 
a familiar adjective) fast. People all over the land 
are throwing their health to the winds by their im- 
moderation, their over-intensity, their impetuosity 
in attaining ends which either are not worth, or do 
not call for, any such outlay. The fact is one which 
leads to some sober reflections on the relation exist- 
ing between fast life and invalidism. 

There is a course of experience wherein numerous 
strong-bodied mortals excuselessly become "yellow 
sicklings." Let us trace it. 

Among all the grave contrasts which appertain to 
humanity, it would be difficult to find one more grave 
than that presented to view in the two unlike cases — 
that of the hale person who is utterly careless of the 
health he possesses, and that of the invalid who goes 
pining for the health he has lost. A contrast it is 
which can daily be witnessed. Look up and down 
the busy street ! There move the representatives 
of the million who eat and drink, work and play, 
sleep and wake, without heeding any of the rules 
laid down by physiologists, without troubling them- 



36 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

selves over any nice questions in reference to diet or 
to disorder, and without ever seeming to feel the 
difference between enough and too much. They 
plunge into labors and into pleasures as if they sup- 
posed Impunity to be a decree issued from the high 
court of nature especially for them. The matter of 
digestion or of indigestion remains aloof from the 
realm of their anxieties, and they mind not whether 
their tea or their coffee is or is not swallowed in 
mou thf uls too hot to agree with health, or whether 
they are wont to masticate their food as they should, 
or to gobble it in chunky portions. The rain drenches 
them ; but they go their way with unchanged gar- 
ments, having no thought of the danger of taking a 
cold or of incurring a fever. Wet with perspiration, 
they sit by the open window or in the open door, and, 
thinking not of consequences or possibilities, let the 
incoming air-current dry their sweaty skins. So far as 
caring for health is concerned, it is all of a piece with 
them to be temperate or intemperate. They leave 
their various organic apparatuses — the circulatory, 
the secretory, the respiratory, the sympathetic, the 
digestive, the excretory, the absorbent, the nervous — 
all to take care of themselves ; and when appetite 
or passion is in the process of bringing their consti- 
tutional elements into the wild action implied in an 
excess, they do not even raise the question whether 
their life-machinery is likely to be injured in the case 
or not. Such are the majoritj^ of well or healthy 
people. 

Now, shouldst thou, reader, turn to those quiet 
walks which exist just apart from the thronged places 
of stir and hurry, thou wouldst perceive persons 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 37 

whose tendencies and customs are surprisingly dis- 
similar to those of the class just delineated. There 
move the still thoughtful ones, whose nerves are 
shattered, and whose vitality is at a low ebb. Their 
step is faltering, their faces are faded, and a sad 
longing is indicated in the expression of their eyes. 
These feeble individuals are as careful in respect to 
the quan tit} T of almost every experience they have, 
as if it were some powerful drug, and they were re- 
quired to take a homeopathic dose of it. In eating 
and drinking they are obliged to keep themselves 
within humiliating limits. Think of a person par- 
taking of delicious edibles and of palatable fluids, 
while, as often as he nibbles at the former or sips at 
the latter, he seems to hear the terrible mandate, 
" Thus far, but no further ! " 

The contrast which strikes the mind when the two 
classes that have been considered are compared, af- 
fords a weighty lesson. What is it that accounts for 
the extreme unlikeness between them ? Why do we 
find in the one class a carelessness of health so uni- 
formly persistent and so airily precipitate, and in the 
other a care for health so constant and so sad ? I 
answer by affirming that the sin of living too fast is 
largely involved in the explanation of the great con- 
trast. The former class are wickedly regardless of 
the preciousness of that which the latter, by reason 
of a regardlessness of precisely the same kind, have 
forfeited. 

Let us see if this is not the truth. How is it that 
invalidism is generally produced ? How is it that 
the robust and athletic are brought into that pitiful 
state in which the competency and the glory of the 



38 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

frame are wanting, and in which physical feebleness, 
with all its unhappy concomitants, has taken the 
place of physical vigor ? By what cause is the rubi- 
cund look native to the human face superseded by 
an abiding pallor ? Is the immense change to be 
attributed to hereditary descent ? or is it to be re- 
ferred to sudden and unavoidable disaster ? To the 
one or the other of these, possibly all the impairment 
and all the disability, in a given case of invalid life, 
should be ascribed ; but probably the cause will be 
found to have been neither of them. I venture to 
declare that the secret of the trouble with most of 
those who are to-day in a valetudinarian state, has 
been fast life — just that kind of fast life which 
marks the hurrying, food-gobbling million already 
described. Whatever they may be now, they were 
once daring perpetrators of physical imprudences 
and transgressions. Against the laws of health they 
formerly sinned — sinned with a gay rashness, as if 
they counted their own heartiness eternal. They 
gave place, as the stream of time rolled on, to phil- 
osophic thought and rational moderation, but not till 
their vital strength was mostly scattered, and the 
rose-color had departed from their cheeks. 

Wouldst thou know, reader, where now are they 
who will, in the future, take rank with unrecovering 
invalids ? They are among the inconsiderate eaters 
and drinkers, goers and comers, who vividly figure 
in the bustling circles of the world. Behold him 
who rushes into exciting circumstances, indifferent 
as to what self-indulgence or self-neglect is adapted 
to do for him ! See him as he makes haste through 
the process of food-taking, and then as he sallies 



THE WONDERFUL HOUSE. 39 

forth from the table, and flings himself into the midst 
of hot and fermenting affairs ! Watch him, as, with 
a panting eagerness for new engagements and new 
scenes, he rashly exposes his body in various ways 
to impairing evils ! See him as he seems to challenge 
nature herself to relax, if she can, by any extreme 
vicissitude his hold on bodily vigor ! Ah ! see him 
as he thus wildly sports with his body along the track 
of life ! 

Now, what ground is there for supposing that that 
person should for many years continue to be able- 
bodied ? What reason is there to think his health 
should abide the withering of the grass and the 
fading of the flowers during a long succession of 
seasons? Only the reason that he has inherited a 
constitution of wonderful firmness and tenacity, — 
and this, on account of his frequent and bold break- 
ing of the laws of health, is rapidly coming to be no 
reason at all. The individual is needlessly, reck- 
lessly, and inexcusably undermining and bringing 
down the house- of his soul. And where shall be 
the occasion for surprise, if, after a few more springs, 
and summers, and autumns, and winters, he will be 
seen to have become a retired, trembling sufferer, 
bleached and worn by chronic disease — an instance 
of the melancholy deliberateness and the feverish 
weakness inseparable from confirmed invalidism ? 

Thus it is one is enabled to form some clear idea 
of the relation which exists between too intense a 
life and a state of physical brokenness and blight. 
I would not commend an over-nice carefulness of the 
physical nature. There is an absurd waiting on the 
frame. Let no person treat his corporeal fabric as 



40 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

if it were too precious to be subjected to anything 
trying, and too fine to be made forcibly useful. Fre- 
quent exposures of skin and sinew to circumstances 
that have rough edges ; the custom of submitting 
the limbs to occasional tests of what they can do and 
what they can endure ; a brave betaking of the body, 
at times, into close contact with the elements when 
in their discomposed state ; persevering exertions of 
physical energy in climbing, not too rarely, from the 
bottom to the top of some one of Difficulty's rugged 
steeps, — these are parts of a true bodily life. An 
extreme watch-care over health results in making 
the nerves over-sensitive, the muscles unenduring, 
and the whole organic system inefficient. The frame 
should be neither petted nor too much held under 
inspection ; should be neither the object of a squeam- 
ish concern, nor the recipient of an extravagant min- 
istration. Berkley, that Englishman mentioned by 
Longfellow in his Hyperion, as having usually eaten 
his breakfast " sitting in a tub of cold water and 
reading a newspaper," did greatly err in the matter 
of cold bathing. People should be anxious for noth- 
ing (so teaches a wise contributor to The Spectator^) 
save what nature demands as necessary. 

But to condemn an excessive nicety in caring for 
the body, is not to encourage a reckless treatment 
of it. If it is true that (as Horace Mann declares) " a 
man without high health is as much at war with 
nature as a guilty soul is with the Spirit of God," 
then indisputable is it that he who sacrifices high 
health for the sake of living fast, is flagrantly foolish. 



THE 



INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 



" Mind it seeth, Mind it heareth ; all beside is deaf and blind." 
Philosophic Proverb (attributed to Epicharmus). 



41 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 43 



Chapter II. 
THE SOUL 



I. 

OUR SELE-KNOWING SUBSTANCE. 

" Most people deride or vilify their nature ; it is a better thing to 
endeavor to understand it." Spinoza. 

"To know, we must understand our instrument of knowing." 
Sir William Hamilton, Discussions, p. 696. 

We have studied that wonderful house, the body ; 
now we are to study the more wonderful entity 
which occupies it. This is the intelligent part of 
the Great Slighted Fortune. It is many-named. 
Sometimes men call it the spirit ; sometimes, the 
mind ; sometimes, the Ego. Carlyle represents it 
as the ethereal God-given Force which dwells in 
mortals, and is their Self. Its most familiar desig- 
nation is the " soul." Every one is irresistibly made 
aware that, holding habitance somehow in his or- 
ganic frame, is a something invisible and intangible 
that perceives, remembers, imagines, abstracts, com- 
pares, reasons, feels, and wills. But not every one 
considers as he should, that the same viewless, im- 
palpable performer and home-keeper in the body is 
a high species of property, a fine, unwasting heritage. 



44 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

The soul is our self-knowing substance; and our 
self-knowing substance is surely our most wondrous 
wealth. Does there arise the inquiry, How can the 
soul, which has the dignity of an owner, be to itself 
a thing owned by itself? Or, do there come to mind 
those words of Coleridge, 

" For what you are, you cannot have" ? 

I answer that, just so long as the soul can develop 
and improve its own nature, so long can it account 
its nature a wealth to itself, — a heritage that may 
be continually kept in process of increase. Shakes- 
peare, in his play entitled Taming of the Shrew, puts 
into the mouth of Petruchio the words, 

" For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich." 

All men know that the mind does this. But it 
does this only when, conscious that it is itself a rich 
estate, it is engaged in making itself more rich. 
Montaigne, in one place, says, " I have nothing 
mine but myself." And in another place he re- 
marks, " I fold myself within my own skin." Ex- 
plain these apparently contradictory averments of 
his as you will. Here is my explanation of them. 
He saw that more to him than anything else, nay, 
than all things else that he possessed on earth, was 
the heaven-bequeathed wealth above price, which, 
under the name of a soul, was lodged inside his cor- 
poreal tegument. The soul is that inestimable cap- 
ital which it is the privilege of man, all his years, to 
enhance and add to ; and he who treats property 
that can be measured with a chain or a tape-line, or 
property that can be carried in a bag, as better than 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 45 

it, not merely hides a single native talent, but in 
great part buries his rich-born self alive. 

I have pronounced the soul our self-knowing sub- 
stance ; and our self-knowing substance I have 
affirmed to be a heritage, the value of which outvies 
that of the most prized outward riches. Are these 
representations warrantable ? Is not the soul some- 
thing to which explorers cannot find a complete 
way ? Is it not the housed mystery which comes out 
into sight through no unbolted door, and can be seen 
through none ? Have not inquiring men, from He- 
raclitus' day to the present, taught that one can 
never advance so far toward the knowledge of the 
soul as to arrive thereat? u We know," says Addi- 
son, " neither the nature of an idea, nor the sub- 
stance of a soul." " Of the essence of mind," says 
Wayland, "we know nothing." " What the thing 
is which we call ourselves," says James Anthony 
Froude, " we know not." And Sir William Hamil- 
ton, though he declares the knowledge of ourselves 
to be of paramount importance, and though he avers 
that the maxim " Know thyself " is in fact a heav- 
enly precept in Christianity as in heathenism, teaches 
that, " as substances, we know not what is matter, 
and are ignorant of what is mind." What shall be 
said of these grave assertions, and of all others like 
them ? Certainly, not too much is it to say they are 
too broad, too sweeping. It is true, we can know but 
little concerning the soul, considered as the basis of 
its own qualities. That it is, when thus considered, 
incomprehensible in the same sense in which all 
other things are so, there is no room for denial, none 



46 THE GKEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

for doubt. " One thing," says Cicero, " can no more 
nor less be comprehended than another, because the 
definition of comprehending all things is the same." 
Atoms are mysterious entities. The greatest scien- 
tists can tell but little concerning them. They are 
not susceptible of being wholly known ; and, in the 
sense of this statement, they are incomprehensible. 
But can nothing be known about them ? Who 
would venture to make such an assertion ? The 
eminent Tyndall, having performed the experiment 
which consists in pouring a solution of chloride of 
ammonium on glass, and then exhibiting, by means 
of a camera obscura together with an electric light, 
the ensuing process of crystallization, remarked to 
his audience, that he never witnessed the process, 
thus repeated, without a feeling of awe at " the 
enormous display of energy on the part of atoms 
which singly must ever remain invisible." Suggest- 
ive words ! Do they not plainly imply that atoms 
are not utterly unknowable ? The truth is, a thing 
may be incomprehensible, while, in some respects, it 
can be apprehended. Such a thing is the self-know- 
ing substance. Concerning this, men all over the 
world have arrived at conclusions which they have 
justly formed into unwavering trusts. The doctrine 
of Sir William Hamilton, that mind and matter, in 
themselves considered, are totally unsusceptible of 
being known, is an untenable theory. More than 
once, he himself virtually abandons it. For example, 
in his Philosophy of Perception, he says : 

" They [mind and matter] are known to us only in their quali- 
ties ; and we can justify the postulation of two different substances, 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 47 

exclusively on the supposition of the incompatibility of the double 
series of phenomena to coinhere in one." * 

If they are known to us in their qualities; evi- 
dently they are, in a measure, known to us as sub- 
stances ; for qualities are manifestations of the basis, 
essence, or substance, wherein they inhere. Aris- 
totle makes the true observation : " For what ap- 
pears to all, that we affirm to be." It appears to all 
that men are not mere machines ; therefore, we may 
say that they are not mere machines. It appears to 
all that men do not, like the forms of mere matter, 
lose, in the course of rolling time, their identity, but 
that they continually know themselves as the same 
beings ; therefore we may affirm that men are not 
of the substance called matter, but are of a self- 
identifying substance very different from matter. 

But while some knowledge of the soul's essence 
can be gathered from what appears to all in respect 
to the soul, some can also be gathered from particu- 
lar discernments in respect to the soul, made by 
individuals of rare and highly-qualified intellectual 
powers. " The more the mind is enlightened," says 
Madame de Stael, " the further it will penetrate into 
the essence of things." They that have come to 
"years that bring the philosophic mind," see deeper 
into man than do others. Accordingly, such persons, 
almost without exception, hold the belief that the 
soul is unspeakably higher. in rank than any material 
entity ever yet discovered. Is it possible to con- 
ceive one like Bacon or one like Newton, as deeming 
the human intellect on a level as to essence with the 

* In his Philosophy of Common Sense, Section II., he expresses 
with somewhat more amplitude the same meaning. 



48 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

human organism? The great Shakespeare, pene- 
trating into the self-knowing substance, makes his 
soliloquizing Hamlet say : 

" What a piece of work is a man ! How noble in reason! how 
infinite in faculty ! in form, in moving, how express and admira- 
ble ! in action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how like a god ! 
the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! " 

Wordsworth, looking deeply into the same sub- 
stance, sings : 

" The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting, 

And cometh from afar ; 
Not in entire forgetfulness, 
And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
From God who is our home." 

Novalis, getting glimpses into the mental essence, 
declares : 

" Man is the higher sense of our planet, the star which connects 
it with the upper world, the eye which it turns toward heaven." 

Carlyle, piercingly scanning it, affirms : 

"A healthy body is good ; but a soul in right health — it is the 
thing beyond all others to be prayed for ; the blessedest thing this 
earth receives from heaven." 

Bulwer — a man familiar with the vastness of 
geological mutations and with the sublimity of the 
working of mundane forces — exploringly studies 
it, and exclaims : 

" Oh, how much greater is the soul of one man than the vicissi- 
tudes of the whole globe ! " 



THE INESTIMABLE INTEKIOB, HERITAGE. 49 

And Bushnell, the Christian philosopher, looks 
thoughtfully down into it, and breaks forth in the 
words : 

" this great and mighty soul! were it something less, you 
might find what to do with it ; charm it with the jingle of a golden 
toy, house it in a safe with ledgers and stocks, take it about on 
journeys to see and be seen ! Anything would please it and bring 
it content. But it is the Godlike soul, capable of rest in nothing 
but God ; able to be filled and satisfied with nothing but His full- 
ness and the confidence of His friendship ! " 

Each of these celebrated authors felt impelled, by 
what he was able to discern respecting the conscious 
basis of human qualities, to honor it with some en- 
kindled and emphatic expression, suggestive of its 
superiority. 



II. 

THE SOUL KNOWABLE ONLY BY WAY OF ITS 
PHENOMENA. 

" The intellect knows itself only in knowing its objects." 

Aristotle, De Anima, Book III. 

The inquiry is here to be considered, how the 
knowledge which it is our privilege to have, both in 
respect to what the soul is in itself, and in respect 
to its capabilities and possibilities, is obtainable. I 
promptly answer that it can be acquired only by 
studying the operations, the states, and the effects 
of the mental substance ; in short, all that can be 
called its phenomena. Of this finest thing in the 
world, be it remembered, we can get no information 
save by way of things which are second to itself. It 
4 



50 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FOETUNE. 

absolutely refuses to be known otherwise. And 
herein it resembles all power in physical nature. 
" The great energies of nature," says Paley, " are 
known to us only by their effects." Their effects 
are the things second to them, by way of which we 
obtain our knowledge of them ; and were not the 
former perceivable, the latter would be unknowable. 
The power which produces crystallization; the 
power which draws out of the earth the nourishing 
elements which circulate in the vitals of trees ; the 
power in sunlight which is designated by the name 
actinism, and which noiselessly works changes adapt- 
ed to raise solemn wonderment in the mind of the 
student of nature ; the power which gives cohesion 
to the parts and the particles of porphyry rocks and 
of granite bowlders ; and the power whereby the 
mountains are held in their places while the globe is 
whirling on its axis, and whereby the planets are 
held in their orbits in spite of their centrifugal ten- 
dency, — each would at this moment be to the 
human understanding as if it were not, and had 
never been, but for the effects of it, which, from 
time to time, do engage, and have engaged human 
attention. Men cannot see with their eyes, or hear 
with their ears, or touch with their fingers, or taste 
with their tongues, or smell with their nostrils, 

" The mighty force of ocean's troubled flood; " 

they can have knowledge of its existence, and of its 
arousal, and of what it is in itself, and of what it 
can do, by its effects only. " The roots of phenom- 
ena," says Tyndall, " are imbedded in a region 
beyond the reach of the senses." 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 51 

To one beholding the famous Niagara River pre- 
viously to the beginning of its swift descent and its 
breaking-up into far-sounding and gleaming rapids, 
that river seems destitute of great power. But when, 
tracing its course, he gazes on its waters as they rush 
with foaming fury down the uneven declivity which 
rudely welcomes them, and as they fall headlong over 
the stupendous precipice which they cannot avoid, 
he then creeps with awe-stricken spirit into the im- 
mediate presence of the same thundering stream, 
seeking to know how it was, that, a little while be- 
fore, when it was moving so quietly and so unim- 
pressively, there lay concealed in its depths such 
sublime puissance. And just so all the astonishing 
potencies of the material system, all the tiger-forces 
of nature, refuse to be made objects of direct per- 
ception. They crouch in their own chosen ambus- 
cades, and often enough manifest themselves by 
making an unexpected spring. 

Now, like them, in point of knowability, is the 
soul. That is to say, just as the knowledge of them 
can be arrived at only by way of things which are 
second to what they themselves are, so the knowl- 
edge of the soul can be arrived at only by wa}^ of 
things second to what the soul itself is. 

But let it be noticed that, while power in physical 
nature can be known to us only by way of its effects, 
the soul can be known to us by way not only of its 
effects, but also of its operations and states. And 
here I turn to enter on a careful treatment of these 
several orders of indices of the mental substance and 
its powers. 



52 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



III. 

THE SOUL'S INNER PHENOMENA — HOW PERCEIVED. 

" I may think I think, and then there is a deeper depth when I 
think that I think I think." 

Prop. R. W. Raymond, Lecture on the Seven Senses. 

We gather knowledge of our intelligent essence 
and its endowments, by examining what occurs in the 
secret self-realm, the territory of personality. Such 
an examination is called an exercise of consciousness. 
" Consciousness," says Jouffroy, "is the feeling which 
the intelligent principle has of itself." Sir William 
Hamilton represents it as " the recognition by the 
mind, or Ego, of its acts and affections." To our hid- 
den percipient nature, not hidden is its own thinking. 
It can trace from their beginnings its reasonings. It 
can scrutinize its engagedness when it is forming a 
resolution, and when it is fulfilling a resolution al- 
ready formed. It can distinguish its procedure, when, 
letting itself become unduly fanciful, it builds what 
are called "castles in the air." It can discern the 
process of which it is the subject when it is hoping 
or desponding, loving or hating, striving to gain some 
noble object or lapsing into the dreamy state of a 
mere humdrum. 

Neither the oak that stands firm-fastened to the 
soil, nor the globe that travels its rounds in the grip 
of gravity, ever realizes what it is to muse on a high 
theme or to ponder over a low one, — what it is to 
devise an excellent plan or to concoct a wicked one. 
Only natures that can perceive, and at the same time 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 53 

« 

be conscious of perceiving, — only self-knowing na- 
tures that can have cognition of their own thoughts 
and feelings while these are being born, — can do 
things answering to such descriptions. Hommel, the 
noted fatalist, declares : "I have a feeling of liberty 
even at the very moment when I am writing against 
liberty." Coleridge, in one of his seasons of spirit- 
ual quickening, sings of his soul's high mood : 

" O ye hopes that stir within me, 

Health comes with you from above ! 
God is with me, God is in me, 
I cannot die if life be lore." 

The aged Bishop of Poictiers, while he is expiring, 
tranquilly cognizes the emotions of his soul as the 
process of dissolution advances, and says : "Go out, 
soul, go out ! Of what canst thou be afraid ? Hast 
thou not studied duty for seventy years ? " By con- 
sciousness one is enabled to know that he is ; that 
he is himself, and not another ; and that what he is 
in himself is diverse from all known material things. 
By consciousness one is made aware of the various 
changes which come over his spirit. By conscious- 
ness one becomes acquainted with pain and pleasure 
in himself, and apprehends not only those natural 
awakenings of his soul which are called instincts, 
appetites, propensities, desires, affections, and pas- 
sions, but also those natural modes of his soul which 
are called intellectual and spiritual faculties. With- 
out consciousness there could be no complete seeing 
or hearing, remembering or imagining, comparing or 
judging, — in short, no complete cognitive exercise of 
mental energy. This is not to deny that the soul is the 
subject of a fruitful action whereof it is unconscious. 



54 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

There are certain fundamental truths which (as 
Wordsworth says) " wake to perish never." We do 
not seek them ; we do not in the least bestir our- 
selves to get possession of them. They come right 
to us when it is meet they should come ; and we 
are totally unaware of the process whereby they 
come. Sometimes they are called principles of com- 
mon sense, sometimes self-evident truths, sometimes 
primordial law^s of intelligence, sometimes intuitions, 
sometimes instinctive cognitions, sometimes natural 
prenotions, sometimes transcendental truths, some- 
times primary hypotheses of nature, sometimes ax- 
ioms, sometimes received principles of demonstration, 
sometimes sacred principles against which it is un- 
lawful to contend, sometimes incomprehensible spon- 
taneities, and sometimes necessary convictions. But 
such truths, though the soul is unconscious of the 
action which brings them to itself, are never known 
to the soul till they are " elicited into consciousness." 
While it is certain we do not consciously obtain them, 
it is equally certain we could not, independently of 
consciousness, have knowledge of them. 



IV. 

THE OUTER PHENOMENA OF THE SOUL: WORKS OF 
GREAT MEN. 

" That which is greatest in a man is that which he has in com- 
mon with all men." Henry Giles. 

The one quest of quests, the search after knowl- 
edge of our self-knowing substance and its innate 
qualities, is ever more or less successful when carried 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 55 

on, as it perennially may be, in the directions and 
the regions of the soul's outer phenomena. Under 
this head, what engaging indices of the subtile man 
that is within man may be considered ! There are 
the much-signifying works of famous poets, artists, 
philosophers, orators. These, it is true, are prod- 
ucts attributable to different souls ; but, at the same 
time, are they not impressive helps toward knowing 
what the soul is in general? A man once lived 
whose name was Homer. Having the gray rocks of 
the isle of Scio in his sight, and the grand roar of 
the iEgean Sea in his ear, he set his conscious self 
to composing, in epic measure, the story of Troy ; 
and there resulted the cantos of the Iliad, the 
words of which, though first recited more than 
twenty-seven hundred years ago, are at this hour 
wonderfully alive — nay, are as potent as if a kind 
of eternal energy were in them. A man once lived 
whose name was John Milton. Taking for his 
theme the lost Paradise described in primeval his- 
tovy, he concentrated his conscious self in elevated 
musings on the same ; and there resulted a poem, 
beautiful and great, written in a style which is a 
"costume of sovereignty," and so endowed with 
chaste and uplifting thought, as to be a rare gift to 
the world. A man once lived whose name was 
Michael Angelo. When he was a small boy, his 
conscious self took for its master-bias a partiality 
for exercise with the pencil. When fourteen years 
of age, he evinced an extraordinary skill in paint- 
ing, which excited jealousy and envy in his teacher, 
Dominico Ghirlandajo. When he had come to ma- 
turity, he manifested such persevering energy, such 



56 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

loftiness and grandeur of conception, and such un- 
surpassed creativeness, as a painter, as a sculptor, 
and as an architect, that some of his admirers have 
even deemed him to have possessed powers that 
were superhuman. One of them — Sir Joshua Re}-- 
nolds — enthusiastically affirms that he was not only 
the inventor of modern art, but that he carried it to 
the highest point of possible perfection. 

A man once lived whose name was Isaac Newton. 
At his birth, his body was remarkably diminutive — 
so much so as scarcely to afford a resting-place for 
the hope of rearing him. It could almost have been 
put into a quart measure. This fact, however, pre- 
vented him not from coming to be one of the great- 
est of " those great men who have been ornaments 
of their species." At an early age, his conscious 
self acquired a fondness for reading and study, and 
for the contriving of novel expedients whereby to 
apply and elucidate natural principles. When he 
was a school-lad, such mental power had he, that, 
whenever he specially exerted himself to outstrip 
his fellow-pupils, he flew as on invisible wings to a 
position above them. His widowed mother recalled 
him from the pursuits which he loved, that he might 
oversee " the tillage, the grazing, and the harvest ; " 
but she found that the farm management was often 
delegated by him to the hired servant, in order that 
he himself might linger in a garret with some old 
books, or that he might execute some contrivance 
for the elucidation of scientific truth. He was sent 
to Trinity College, Cambridge. There, at a rapid 
rate of progress, he prosecuted not only the regular 
studies, but also other studies, which were much 



THE INESTIMABLE INTEEIOE HEEITAGE. 57 

more difficult. He became a devoted, admired, emi- 
nent philosophic inquirer, a masterful penetrator 
into terrestrial and celestial mysteries. One field 
of science after another — optics, mathematics, hy- 
dro-dynamics, astronomy — was entered by him, with 
the hope of discovering therein some great hidden 
thing ; and, in each of them, his soul was — 

"Like a glory from afar." 

Wherever he brought to bear his heroic energies 
in scientific research, dimness seemed to flee away 
from truths that were obscure, and darkness from 
truths that "lay hid in night," unaccountable things 
became suddenly explicable, riddles were deprived 
as by magic of their puzzling strangeness, and rela- 
tions, laws, and forces, which had hitherto been 
wholly concealed, or but half discerned, burst, as it 
were, into the state of things well known. In his 
encounters with complexity and intricacy in nature, 
he seized splendid trophies, wherewith he both sur- 
prised and enriched the minds of men. By reason 
of the fine certainties which he discovered con- 
cerning light, mortals learned to look with a pro- 
found respect on the gaudy colors of the spectrum. 
He began with reflections on the falling of an apple, 
proceeded by sure steps of investigation and with a 
sublime deliberateness toward some hoped-for gen- 
eralization that would simplify the universe, and 
finally reached a deduction, the greatest of all that 
have been arrived at in modern ages. 

He who, by the exertions of his mind, thus made 
himself the path-finder to the law of gravitation, 
was amiably meek, unpretendingly modest, and per- 



58 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

fectly free from arrogance. He referred all his 
grand triumphs to his industry and his patience as 
an interrogator of nature, and seemed to become 
more deeply humble in proportion as he became 
more conspicuous and famous. 

See how some of those, to whom this performer 
of august toil, this solver of the problem of the 
spheres, this mighty soul, has been an object of con- 
templation, have indicated their idea of his great- 
ness ! One of the contributors to The Spectator 
describes him as having broken forth from amid the 
darkness that involved human understanding, and 
appeared like a being of another species. Edmund 
Halley, carried away by his reverent admiration for 
him, said — 

" So near the gods — man cannot nearer go." 

And a certain French nobleman (the Marquis de 
L'Hopital), when visited by some Englishmen, made 
mention to them of . their renowned countryman 
thus: "Does Mr. Newton eat, drink, or sleep like 
other men ? I represent him to myself as a celestial 
genius, entirely disengaged from matter." 

A man once lived whose name was Patrick Henry. 
In all his early years he was habitually indisposed 
to efficacious activity, and seemed to be unambitious 
for any superior attainment. Leaving hard study 
and hard work to those who loved them, he spent 
most of his time loitering in fields, roaming through 
woodlands, lingering on the banks of streams, hunt- 
ing, fishing, dreaming. So tardy was the develop- 
ment of his soul, that, even after he had become an 
adult in body, his life for several years gave promise 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 59 

of nothing but a series of failures. But the day at 
length came in his history, when, notwithstanding all 
his long-continued unfecundity of mind, he appeared 
with his conscious self not merely in a blossoming 
state, but abounding — nay, profusely covering him 
— with " delicious and matured fruit." The world 
was astonished. The outburst of mental energy, 
and the display of mental richness, which occurred 
on his part, were such as, in a case like his, had not 
been supposed to be within the range of possibility. 
When he made the public effort which suddenly 
advanced him to eminence, he had no confident ex- 
pectation of success. He was neither spurred on 
by a thirst for popular applause, nor impelled by an 
ardent desire for fame ; was neither encouraged by 
the thought that he had undergone a long drill in 
the art of declamation, nor buoyed up by the recol- 
lection that he had already, on some little scale, 
made triumphant oratorical exertions. He came 
before his audience, an unlettered, plain man, who 
was in doubt respecting what he was fitted to be ; 
he confronted it without any thing to serve as a 
ground for the anticipation of transcendent results. 
His mien and manner, at the outset, were such as 
befitted the clown rather than the orator ; but " as 
his mind rolled along and began to glow from its 
own action, all the exuvice of the clown seemed to 
shed themselves spontaneously," and his awakened 
countenance, the fine fire which played about his 
eyes and which often darted therefrom, the mag- 
netism which his gestures carried with them, and 
his form, no longer bowed or bent, but standing 
forth erect and majestic, conspired with' his winged 



60 THE GKEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

words to render him an irresistible prince and mas- 
ter of eloquence. 

His sublime entrance into the sphere of action for 
which nature had formed him, was followed by no 
relapse into indolence and fruitlessness. By one 
demonstration after another of his native gifts, he 
dazzled human throngs, passing, as he did so, through 
every degree of glory attainable to an orator. Men 
listened to him with absorbed attention. He over- 
whelmed bitter opposition and defiant resistance. 
He " seared the visages of his haughty antagonists 
by his consuming scowl." Advocates, the moment 
they heard they were to have him for a contestant, 
scarcely prepared for anything but defeat. He cham- 
pioned the rights of men ; he thundered against 
tyranny and tyrants ; he defended the Bible and the 
preachers of its truth, proclaiming that, without the 
wholesome influence of these, "liberty would be- 
come licentiousness, and man more savage than the 
roaming tigers." Sobriety and dignity were worn 
by him as familiar robes. Neither the flatteries of 
the idolizing multitude, nor the seductions of par- 
ticular admirers, who had not the virtue of self- 
denial, could delude him into forgetting to be ele- 
vated in spirit and manly in deportment. It has 
been said of him, that he " shrank from the contact 
of vulgar associates." 

Age seems to have been loth to impair the quali- 
fications which this man had for a divine eloquence. 
Even when almost at his sixtieth year, he displayed, 
in one instance, a might and a splendor as an ora- 
tor, which were, perhaps, equalled by him at no pre- 
vious period, The occasion was a discussion before 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 61 

the people, between himself and John Randolph, of 
certain political issues of the day. Taking the ros- 
trum, he energetically opened the debate ; and, as 
he proceeded along the line of the questions which 
required his attention and became more and more 
absorbed and earnest, he poured forth bewitching 
words, and shone with a wonderful light. The 
enthusiasm of the audience, when he had concluded, 
w^as so intense and rapturous that, as he came down 
from his place, they literally embraced him and bore 
him about in their arms. Randolph immediately 
mounted on the platform to reply to him. So eccen- 
tric was he in personal appearance, in manner, and 
in matter, that from the first he drew attention and 
held it. At the close of his harangue the auditors, 
having been vividly impressed by his queer look, his 
sharp, clear, nervous, and penetrating voice, and his 
long, cool" sentences, all freighted and bristling w T ith 
stinging satire, honored him with tributes of lively 
applause. To the great Henry, such a result as this, 
occurring in the case of one who had ventured to be 
his rival, was a singular surprise. It gave him a 
rare impulse to spontaneous exertion. He went 
back to the stage, and began again to speak. And 
then it was he clothed himself with such majesty 
and grace, and evinced such energy and sweetness 
in public address, as had scarcely ever before distin- 
guished him. Frequently, with a sort of fatherly 
pathos, he alluded to his young competitor, min- 
gling with intimations of high regard for his talents 
expressions of regret in view of his political here- 
sies. As his soul threw itself out in efforts for con- 
summate mastery, he exhibited a series of oratorical 



Wl THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

flights which were not merely Demosthenian or 
Ciceronian : they were incomparable. The people, 
utterly unable to resist his magical sway, resigned 
their minds and hearts to be borne by him hither 
and thither. On their part, transport succeeded 
transport. At times they broke forth in ejacula- 
tions of delight, and at times burst out in tears 
copious as rain gushing from over-laden clouds. 
Says an adverter to that scene : " The gesture, in- 
tonations, and pathos of Mr. Henry operated like 
an epidemic on the transported assembly. The con- 
tagion was universal. An hysterical frenzy per- 
vaded the whole audience to such a degree, that 
they were at the same moment literally weeping 
and laughing. At this juncture the speaker de- 
scended from the stage. Shouts of applause rent 
the air, and were echoed from the skies. The whole 
spectacle, as it really was, would not only mock 
every attempt at description, but would almost chal- 
lenge the imagination of any one who had not wit- 
nessed it." 

In the Iliad, there are attributed to Ulysses some 
rich-freighted remarks concerning souls that have 
come into the world, gifted for the sphere of the 
orator. He is represented as saying : 

" The gods do not give all good things to all men, and often a man 
is made unfair to look upon ; but over his ill favor they fling, like 
a garland, a power of lovely speech, and the people delight to look 
on him. He speaks with modest dignity, and he shines among 
the multitude. As he walks through the city, men gaze on him as 
on a god." 

Not inapplicable are these words to Patrick Henry, 
that splendid instance of what nature can do for a 
human soul. 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 63 



V. 

THE SOUL'S REVEALINGS OF ITSELF THROUGH THE 
BODY. 

" The intellect of man sits enthroned visibly upon his forehead 
and in his eye ; and the heart of" man is written upon his counte- 
nance." Longfellow, Hyperion, p. 210. 

The striking effects which the inner man produces 
on the outer, are indices of the soul's essence and 
faculties, which may well be considered by them- 
selves. Among them are the enchanting looks, ges- 
tures, and accents which mark the golden-mouthed 
orator. Nature is an autobiographer. She prints 
records about herself on the trunks of trees and on 
coal layers, along river shores, and the gorges of 
mountains ; and she tells stories about herself in the 
motions occasioned by the exertion of her forces, and 
in the sounds which emanate from her awakened 
elements. The soul is a more remarkable autobiog- 
rapher. This writes facts concerning itself on the 
features of the face, and on those parts of the hands 
that are variegated with veins ; and it speaks them 
in the action of the limbs, and in the utterances of 
the articulating organs. 

The corporeal aspects, movings, attitudes, vocifer- 
ations, and vocables which have the rank of soul- 
language, are as varied as the descriptions of a 
romance-writer. Man must have begun, very early 
in his history, to be observant of them. Doubtless 
he studied them before he studied the stars. May 
we not believe that the first time he saw his face 



64 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

mirrored in the water of earth, he was led to reflect 
on one or more of them ? 

The tale-telling effects produced on the part of 
the body by its occupant are, to the percipient of 
them, sometimes agreeable and sometimes horrible ; 
sometimes enlivening and sometimes saddening ; 
sometimes soothing and sometimes rousing. In the 
list of them must be named appearances which are 
beautiful human brightnesses, and appearances which 
are fury-flashings resembling out-darted tongues of 
night-fire flame. Who has never noticed how the 
soul, when charged with " the stormy electricity of 
passion," gives account of itself by way of different 
parts of the organism which it occupies ? Says 
Ovid : 

" Rage swells the lips, with black blood fill 3 the veins." 

And says the author of the eighty-sixth essay of 
The Spectator, " I have seen an eye curse for 
half an hour together, and an eye-brow call a man 
a scoundrel." In the moments in which the invisi- 
ble speaker that uses so many methods and modes of 
communication, speaks passionately, vain would it 
be to look or to listen for anything ungenuine. Af- 
fectation is, then, out of the question. The soul, 
when agitated and billowy, employs no feigned lan- 
guage. 

Consider what varieties of bodily expression, both 
visible and audible, there are which afford knowl- 
edge of it in its different passional states. Is it 
affrighted ? If so, then it speaks in a paleness, a 
trembling, a standing of the hair upright, a starting, 
and a shrieking. Is it perturbed by grief ? If so, 
then it speaks in a sighing, a sobbing, a groaning, a 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 65 

screaming, a roaring, a weeping, a distorting of the 
face, a grinding of the teeth, and a sweating. Is it 
joyful ? If so, then it speaks in a display of anima- 
tion and vigor in the eyes, a singing, a leaping, a 
dancing, and perhaps a shedding of tears. Is it 
angry ? If so, then it speaks in a pallor of the coun- 
tenance, a going and a coming of the color, a trepi- 
dation, a swelling, an ebullition from the mouth, a 
stamping, and a cloubling-up or clenching of the 
hands. Is it displeased ? If so, then it speaks in a 
shaking of the head, and in a frowning and a knit- 
ting of the brows. Is it ashamed ? If so, then it 
speaks in blushes and in a downcasting of the eyes. 
Is it in a pitying mood ? If so, then it speaks in 
tears and in a turning of the eyes aside. Is it in a 
wondering mood ? If so, then it speaks in a still, 
rigid posture of the frame, a casting of the eyes 
heavenward, and an uplifting of the hands. Is it 
laughing ? If so, then it speaks in a dilatation of 
the mouth and the lips, a continued vociferous ex- 
pulsion of the breath, a shaking of the breast and 
the sides, and a running of water from the eyes. 
What a spontaneous, straightforward, undelusive 
outgiving of information there is in each one of 
these sorts of language ! How full they all are of 
meaning ! Na} r , how they overflow with it ! And 
what is here said of them might truly be said of all 
the other sorts of language which may properly be 
included among the many whereof they are a few. 
Did we but learn to interpret the lesser, as we have 
learned to interpret the greater, shows, actions and 
sounds of the body which are significant of the soul, 
what an acquaintance would we come to have with 
5 



66 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

this heaven-made thing ! What Shakespeare-like 
knowers of it would we come to be ? We would, 
then, often be able, while looking at some " thin, 
veined wrist," to say, — 

" In such a little tremor of the blood, 
The whole strong clamor of a vehement soul 
Doth utter itself distinct." 

The languages in which the inner man speaks by 
way of the outer are not entirely the same, in one 
stage of life as in another; nor are they altogether the 
same in any individual instance as in another. From 
the revealings made by the conscious self through a 
mature body, expect not to gather much knowledge 
about the mental nature as it is in the "salad days" 
of its history. The poet says of adolescence : 

" In that first onrush of life's chariot wheels, 
We know not if the forests move or we." 

The truth is, the soul in youth is, in a thousand 
respects, unlike what it is in age ; and accordingly it 
manifests itself in youth, in a thousand character- 
istics of the body, unlike those in which it mani- 
fests itself in age. Elasticity of limb and buoyancy 
of form, pliancy of bone and flexibility of fiber and 
ligament, bouncingness of blood and dewy mellow- 
ness of tissue, a spontaneity and a fluency of utter- 
ance in tenor tones, and a brightness of the eyes as 
unrestful almost as the Northern Lights, — these, 
each of them in some high degree, are among the 
effects on the body which are wrought by the soul 
when in its juvenile stage, and in which it then 
speaks of what it is and of what it can. He whose 
frame is the subject of such effects, has a youthful 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 67 

mind and heart ; he whose frame is the subject of 
effects which are their opposites, has an unyouthful 
mind and heart. There are some juveniles that are 
more senile than juvenile. They are precociously 
wise. A loveliness, pale, serene, unnatural, charac- 
terizes them. They go about, each in a form which 
is scarcely more than " a little quantity of matter 
containing a light, an excuse for a soul to remain 
upon the earth." They have a solemn bodily air and 
a precise and dignified bodily movement, as if they 
" were setting an example for their ancestors." Boys 
and girls answering to such a description, seem to 
have souls that have grown old without having been 
young. 

It is ever interesting to notice and to try to inter- 
pret the effects of the soul on the body, in cases of 
human greatness. Great men in general have a pos- 
ture neither pertly straight nor proudly rigid, but 
nobly easy ; they have a deliberate and firm step, 
sometimes leonine, sometimes elephantine ; they have 
an utterance which both commands and engages, 
which comprises both the sound of power and the 
intonation of modesty ; they have in their ordinary 
and most tranquil look, either an aspect as if they 
were beholding something away back in the vast in- 
terior of their being, or an aspect as if they were 
gazing at something far beyond the expanses of the 
present and the pre-discerned elevations of the near 
future. When a great man is stirred up into an in- 
tense state, he has a glance as effective as was Ahas- 
uerus' scepter. Goethe the majestic German, and 
Webster the majestic American, each had bodily 
characteristics like these. All great men are uncom- 



68 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

monly rich in magnetism. But this who shall de- 
scribe ? We know that it is some penetrating out- 
come. We know that we cannot directly behold 
them without feeling it attract and thrill us. " Soon 
as we really see a real great man," said Theodore 
Parker, "his magnetism draws us, will we or no." 
What is that of which he, who was himself a great 
man, thus spoke ? Is it the soul, in such a manner 
projected as to be to some extent without the body as 
well as within it? Is it an effluence from the soul? 
Is it an aura which the soul, by reason of its own 
energy, obliges the body to exhale ? Who can tell ? 
Certain facts there are, however, respecting it which 
may be definitely stated. It is something whereof 
every person has his or her degree ; it is something 
which is intimately connected with the conscious 
self, since, if the latter were out of the body, or 
were asleep therein, then nothing like that same 
thing would characterize the body ; and it is some- 
thing of which the great man has so much, that his 
features teem with it, the air around him for a not 
inconsiderable distance is saturated with it, and 
those who approach into his presence are, in a meas- 
ure, fascinated. 

Other instructive effects of the soul on the organic 
house in which it leads its earthly life, claim to be 
mentioned. The inimitable Victor Hugo sets forth 
one of them in the passage: 

" There are moments in battle when the soul hardens a man, 
so that it changes the soldier into a statue, and all flesh becomes 
granite." 

He sets forth another of them in the words : 

" In great and lofty natures, the revolt of the flesh and of the 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HEEITAGE. 69 

senses, when suffering from physical pain, makes the soul appear 
on the brow, in the same way as the mutiny of troops compels the 
captain to show himself." 

Instances there are of disease, instances also of 
Somnambulism, of Mesmerism, of Odylism, and — 
who can doubt it ? — of what is called Spiritualism, 
wherein the soul, that busy indweller, works on the 
body vivid effects, all which are kinds of speech 
employed by it in its unceasing process of self- 
reporting. Despise no human outcomes, thou stu- 
dent, thou philosopher, from which there may be 
derived lessons about the inner man. Believe not 
in divining-rod miracles, believe not in miracles of 
electro-biology and of table-turning ; but carefully 
attend to any curious anthropological facts, any 
noteworthy effects of the soul on the body, which 
are included under these heads. Acknowledge no 
science of Phrenology and no science of Physiogno- 
my ; but pay good heed to the phenomena whereon 
these so-called sciences have been built. An emi- 
nent authority, alluding to Lavater's physiognomical 
system, remarks that no one will venture to pro- 
nounce it " totally fanciful or absurd," and that 
" there is no one who, in his intercourse with the 
world, does not practice it in a greater or less de- 
gree." * And are not these words applicable to 
many another system, made up of real and hypothet- 
ical data, — that, for example, of the Phrenologists, 
that of the Spiritualists, &c. ? 

Is one able to write, or speak, or see, after the 
manner signified by the term " mediumistic " ? Do 

* See article on Physiognomy in the Edinburgh Encyclopedia. 



70 THE GEE AT SLTGHTED FORTUNE. 

not ridicule him or her for being able so to do ; but 
from the human facts in the case, taken by them- 
selves, learn something concerning the conscious 
human self, and be thankful. "All things," says 
Cicero, " that are done according to nature, are to 
be accounted good." A safe rule for well-poised 
persons, all over the world, is to study every phe- 
nomenon of every kind whatsoever, from which may 
be caught by the eye or the ear a part of that 
great and endless story — the story of the soul. 

Much may be learned concerning the thinking 
essence from the outcomes which distinguish all real 
conversational discourse, as well as all real melody- 
making with the voice. Talk that has meaning and 
magnetism in it ; talk that is animated, fervent, stir- 
ring, prevailing ; talk that is of that not very com- 
mon order whereof people say, " There's heart in 
it," or, " There's soul in it," what a phenomenon is 
this ! Is it not an effect which carries a large and 
manifold freight of instruction relative to its cause ? 
There is a harp, and its chords are in the body. 
The soul, whenever it engages earnestly and win- 
somely in conversation, and whenever it expresses 
in vocal song thoughts which are wholly its own, or 
thoughts which it has made its own by adoption, — 
plays on this harp. How delightfully Coleridge, 
Macaulay, Margaret Fuller, and Thoreau played on 
it ! How impressive the music Carlyle and Emer- 
son have a thousand times made it give forth ! It is 
the HARP OF thought. The present writer, mus- 
ing once thereon, had a train of reflections which he 
was moved to put in verse ; and here are the stan- 
zas which he composed : 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 71 

When, in the inner realm, Thoughts, thickly-thronging, 

Gather at some strong Feeling's magic call, 
And winged words are formed, and there's a longing 

Ungladdened ears to thrill, to charm, t'enthrall, 
Then chords within the living frame, vibrating, 

Shed lovely tones and cadences around ; 
Then doth that Harp of Nature's own creating — 

The Harp of Thought — with melody abound. 

What bosom hath not, by a quicker beating, 

Told how its music can beguile and win? 
Who hath not felt, when care his heart was eating, 

How good it was to drink its sweet sounds in? 
Sometimes that Harp's melodious gushes rally 

Fast-sinking courage to the pitch of fire ; 
And sometimes one, far down in life's low valley, 

Learns how its music's might can lift souls higher. 

On foreign soil, a pilgrim wandered lonely, 

His white feet moving near grim heathen gods ; 
He met and mingled with dark strangers only, — 

Men who adored things gross as stones and clods. 
But wheresoe'er he trod, they gathered round him, 

He played with skill upon the Harp of Thought; 
The spell of Truth sublime and holy bound him, 

They heard that Harp's blest strains, and cursed him not. 

The music was not lost. It rolled victorious 

Along the superstition-burdened air; 
In it were seeds, whence sprung a harvest glorious ; 

Dull souls received them, and grew wise and fair. 
O potent Harp ! in many a land of greenness, 

How much of bliss men owe to thy dear tones ! 
Thou helpest troubled minds to gain sereneness, 

And thou dost soothe the weary breast that moans. 



72 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



VI. 

OPINIONS AS TO THE SOUL'S NATURE. 

" Whatever is preached to us, and whatever we learn, we should 
still remember that it is man that gives and man that receives ; 'tis 
a mortal hand that presents it to us ; 'tis a mortal hand that accepts 
it. The things that come to us from heaven have the sole right 
and authority of persuasion, the sole mark of truth." 

Montaigne, Apology for Raimond Sebond. 

Greatly instructive is it to observe how medita- 
tive men of different epochs have spoken in refer- 
ence to the soul's nature. I will mention the opin- 
ions on this subject of some of the philosophers of 
antiquity, some of the profound inquirers of modern 
past centuries, and some of the exploring thinkers 
of the passing age. Not only to the views of minds 
wisely curious and contemplative will I advert, but 
also to the views of 

" Minds mad with reasoning, and fancy-fed." 

Many an old-time searcher into mental mysteries 
there was, whose avowed doctrine concerning the 
soul, though to not a few of his contemporaries it 
may have seemed reasonable, seems to us wildly 
inconsistent. Anaximander represented the soul as 
a compound of earth and water. Parmenides pro- 
nounced it a compound of earth and fire. Empedo- 
cles maintained that it consists in blood, and has its 
seat in the sanguineous fluid of the body. Cleanthes 
and Posidonius both declared it to be heat, or a hot 



THE INESTIMABLE 1NTEEI0E. HERITAGE. 73 

complexion. Crates and DicaBarchus alike asserted 
that it is only a natural stirring of the body. Hesiod 
expressed the opinion that it is the result of a 
union of earth and water ; in other words, the same 
opinion avowed several centuries after his time by 
Anaximander. Zeno averred that it seemed to him 
to be fire. Asclepiades held it to be an exercising 
of the senses. It was conceived by Xenocrates 
to be number, and by Aristoxenus to be harmony. 
Heraclides Ponticus deemed it to be identical in 
substance with light. The Chaldean philosophers 
affirmed it to be a vital habit of the human frame. 
Hippocrates claimed that it is a spirit diffused 
throughout the body ; and Varro, that it is a kind 
of air, received at the mouth, heated in the lungs, 
moistened in the heart, and thence extending to all 
parts of the corporeal structure. The Pythagoreans 
taught that the soul is the principle of animal life 
and sensation, and that with it is connected the 
spirit or intellect, to which belong the higher human 
faculties. Socrates believed the soul to be that 
which moves the body, and is tha.man's self. Plato 
considered it an invisible, self-moving being, which 
can neither be dissipated nor annihilated, which, if it 
retains its purity without any mixture of filth from 
the body, is destined at death to repair to a Being 
ever-living and divine, with whom or in whom it 
will enjoy an inexpressible felicity, but which, if 
it becomes stained and polluted by too intimate a 
commerce with the body, is destined at death to 
depart therefrom with a load of impurity that will 
drag it down to the earth, and make it to be like 
those souls known as gloomy phantoms or specters, 



74 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

wandering about tombs. Aristotle regarded it as 
the realized principle of action, potentially existing 
in germinal corporeal matter; and he was accus- 
tomed to designate it by the term entelechy, — " a 
new-coined word," says Cicero, " signifying per- 
petual motion." Thales held that it is a nature 
which is without repose and which moves of itself. 
Lactantius and Seneca both confessed that they did 
not understand what it is ; and Galen often said 
that he could not venture to affirm anything con- 
cerning its nature. Saint Austin called it a self- 
moving spiritual substance. 

According to Spinoza, the soul is a modification 
of thought ; and thought is one of the infinite attri- 
butes of Deity. According to Montaigne, the soul 
is something never other than a soul, which, by 
power of its own, reasons, remembers, comprehends, 
judges, desires, and performs various other opera- 
tions, making use in so doing of various instruments 
of the body, in like manner as the pilot, regulated 
by his experience, guides his ship, one while strain- 
ing or slacking the cordage, one while hoisting the 
mainyard or moving the rudder, by one and the 
same power working several effects : it is, moreover, 
something lodged in the brain, since the injuries 
which touch that part immediately offend the men- 
tal faculties ; and from the brain it diffuses itself 
through the other parts of the frame, as the sun 
sheds from heaven its light and influence, and fills 
the world therewith. According to " orthodox " in- 
terpreters of Genesis ii. 7, from Eusebius to Dean 
Patrick, the soul is an intelligent substance, which 
bears a resemblance to the divine substance. It has 



THE INESTIMABLE INTEBIOE HERITAGE. 75 

the body for its earthly covering, and is linked to 
the body by that powerful bond, the vital breath. 

According to Swedenborg, the soul is the inner- 
most human nature, and is a spiritual substance, 
possessing recipient vessels which adapt it to take 
into itself "influent life." It has, or rather is, an 
organism, which " consists of perpetual spiral lines," 
and the figure of which is the same as that of the 
human body. " The spirit of man, after its separa- 
tion from the body," he says, "is itself a man, and 
similar in form." The personality of the soul is in 
the will. The soul has senses corresponding to the 
bodily senses, and these, though generally inactive 
in the present life, are sometimes before death 
opened and exercised, and the opening of them, on 
whatever occasion it occurs, is instantly followed by 
a perception of " the things of another life." " Man 
is an organ of life, and God alone is life." The life 
which flows into man is the Spirit of God. Angels 
are human beings that have departed to the spirit- 
world. The resurrection is the drawing forth of 
the soul from the body, and its introduction into 
that world. Man rises again only as to his soul. 
Jesus rose as to his body as well as to his soul, 
because when he was in the world he glorified his 
entire humanity, — that is to say, made it divine. 
Man, after death, finds himself to be a man as much 
as he was before ; he walks, runs, sits, eats, and 
drinks, as really as he did on earth. There are, in 
the spirit-world, lands, mountains, fountains, rivers, 
gardens, groves, woods, houses, cities, books, trades, 
gold, silver, indeed all things that there are in the nat- 
ural world, only they are " immensely more perfect" 



76 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

in the former than in the latter. The habitations of 
the angels " are exactly like the habitations on earth 
called houses, but more beautiful." The architec- 
ture of heaven is such that one might say it is the 
very art of architecture itself. The angels have an 
atmosphere wherein they respire, and wherein they 
utter articulate speech. The suu that gives them 
light is God. They go veiled in a thin cloud, lest 
they should suffer injury from the influx of divine 
radiance. They wear real garments, which are put 
on and taken off, and which are of different styles, 
according to their differences in intelligence. There 
are marriages in heaven ; but they are for the pro- 
pagation of good and truth, not for procreation. 
The angels are very powerful; they can overthrow 
mountains, or shake them from one end to the other. 
The angels live together in societies, and engage in 
affairs domestic, civil, and religious. All of them 
that are "in similar good" know each other, al- 
though they never met before. Immediately after 
death, the soul goes to an intermediate place, resem- 
bling an undulating valley situated between moun- 
tains and rocks. There it is examined and prepared 
for its final abode. Some souls remain there only a 
moment, some a few weeks, some several years, but 
none longer than thirty years. Those in whom 
" good is conjoined with truth," are advanced into 
heaven : those who are wedded to evil, gravitate to 
hell. The former come to have beautiful faces, in 
which all their thoughts and feelings are revealed, 
and wherein " the interiors appear like light; " the 
latter come to have deformed faces, wherein the 
things of the mind appear either black or as a 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 77 

"dusky fire." The senses of the angels are exqui- 
sitely acute. They can, for example, by their fine 
sense of touch, distinguish the quality of others, 
even though they may be at a distance. It is com- 
mon, there, for persons to appear as present in the 
place where the view taken is fixed or terminated. 
The soul, whether on earth or elsewhere, exhales an 
expiratory principle, which constitutes a " sphere " 
around it, and that sphere is, as it were, an image of 
the soul and its character. The expiratory principle 
flows forth from the region of the affections ; and, 
while man is in the body, it blends with the efflux 
which naturally exudes from his physical frame. It 
is either attractive or repulsive. He says : 

" The inclination of conjugal partners, one toward the other, is 
from no other origin than this : such partners are united by unan- 
imous and concordant spheres, and disunited by adverse and dis- 
cordant spheres; for concordant spheres are delightful and grate- 
ful, whereas discordant spheres are undelightful and ungrateful. I 
have been informed by the angels, who are in a clear perception 
of these spheres, that there is not any part within man nor any 
without, which does not renew itself, and that this renewal is 
effected by solutions and reparations, and that hence is the sphere 
which continually issues forth." 

The doctrine propounded and advocated by Stahl 
next demands attention. He was a professor of 
medicine in the university of Halle, Germany, in 
the second half of the seventeenth century. There 
is in man, he maintained, an agent to which the 
body owes all its vital properties. That agent is 
the anima, or soul. It possesses peculiar qualities 
distinct from those which belong to matter. Intel- 
ligence, consciousness, and rationality, appertain to 
it ; and it is not only the source of the corporeal 



78 THE GREAT SLIGHTED EOETUNE. 

vitality, but also the director of all the corporeal 
operations. He seems to have considered it as an 
entity intermediate between the body and the spirit. 
Whytt, a medical professor in Edinburgh University 
in the first half of the eighteenth century, held that 
the soul is a sentient principle distinct from the 
bodily substance, yet necessarily attached thereto, 
and that it is the immediate fountain of bodily life. 
He conceived that it performs its actions in conform- 
ity to the effects produced by external causes, and 
that, therefore, it does not possess either independent 
consciousness or a free faculty of volition. 

Quesne's theory of the soul, which is known under 
the name of " psychism," may well be noticed as 
we press on in this course of review. He contended 
that there is a psychic fluid, which is universally dif- 
fused, and which equally animates all living beings, 
and that the differences in the actions of such beings 
are to be attributed solely to differences in their 
organisms. The opinion of the soul's nature, which 
was expressed by Formey, in an essay published at 
Berlin in 1746, by the Royal Academy of Sciences 
and Belle-Lettres of Germany, is a singular one. He 
represents the soul as consisting in a spiritual fluid, 
into which the furthest inner extremities of the 
nerves dip, and that sensation is the result of vibra- 
tions communicated along the nerves to that fluid. 
Tucker, who wrote on psychological topics a few 
years later than Formey, advanced the hypothesis 
that the soul, or " spiritual part," is a substance 
which is naturally penetrable, but " capable of ren- 
dering itself solid upon occasion, with respect to par- 
ticular bodies, and that hereon our activity depends.'' 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 79 

This theory, together with that of Formey, is al- 
luded to in the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia, in the 
article on Metaphysics. 

We will now glance at opinions of the soul's 
nature which have been set forth in times compara- 
tively, and in times absolutely, recent. Some of 
them are materialistic, some of them anti-material- 
istic ; but most of them will serve to show that the 
passing age, utilitarian as it is, has not been, and is 
not, without its great philosophers, who have exem- 
plified what Coleridge calls — 

" the earnest scan 



Of manhood, musing what and whence is man." 

Sib Benjamin Bbodie. — Every one * [so avers 
he in his Psychological Inquiries'] feels himself to 
be an indivisible, percipient, and thinking being. 
This, then, is a primary truth, which, like our belief 
in the external world, neither rests on nor admits of 
argument. We are unable to conceive the slightest 
resemblance between the known properties of mat- 
ter and mental operations. The former exist in 
space, with which the latter have nothing to do. 
Our knowledge of mind is of a much more positive 
kind than our knowledge of matter. We are sure 
of our mental existence, and we can conceive the 
existence of mind without matter ; hence there is 
no absurdit}' in believing they are not necessarily 
conjoined. The belief of mankind in the indepen- 
dent existence of spirit and in a future state, is so 
universal as to assume the aspect of an instinct, 
which, like every other natural human instinct, is to 



80 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

be regarded as directed to the attainment of some 
real end and object. 

Professor Liebig. — " In the animal body we 
recognize, as the ultimate cause of all force, only 
one cause, — the chemical action which the elements 
of the food and the oxygen of the atmosphere ex- 
ercise on each other." " Physiology has sufficiently 
decisive grounds for the opinion that every motion, 
every manifestation of force, is the result of a trans- 
formation of the structure or of its substance." 

Professor Mulder. — "Any one who imagines 
that there is anything else in action in living beings 
than a molecular force, than chemical force, sees 
what does not exist." 

Lewes. — The soul is an entity which, before it 
began its present life, had somewhere lived, some- 
where exercised intelligent power, somewhere been 
conscious of experience ; and the instincts which 
now characterize it are relics of the acquisitions it 
made in its prior state, — out-gleams from the ashes 
of its preexistent but "lapsed intelligence." 

Brown-Sequard. — The soul comprises' two 
natures, essentially different from each other : the 
one that wherein inhere our ordinary knowing fac- 
ulties, the operations of which we are alwa} r s able 
to perceive and trace by consciousness; the other 
that which is the source of our intuitions, and 
which cognizes and directs our lives without any 
effort that we can by any means feel or discern. 

Darwin. — The soul, in his view, is traceable, 
just as the body is, to a Simian or ape ancestry. 
" The early progenitors of man," he says, " were no 
doubt once covered with hair, both sexes having 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 81 

beards, . . . their ears were pointed and capable of 
movement, and their bodies were provided with a 
tail, having the proper muscles." His doctrine seems 
to be, that mind is a species of cerebral effect, that 
thought and feeling are brain-actions, and that man 
is simply an organic being of higher order than any 
other on earth. 

Agassiz. — The soul is an intelligent, conscious 
power, akin to that which is manifested in nature, 
and of which nature is the product. It acts and 
manifests itself only in connection with the organs 
of a living body ; so that wit hoot brain you have no 
thinking, without brain you have no expression of 
intellectual power. It comprises two species of in- 
telligence, one of which is the reflective, argumen- 
tative, and combining ; the other the intuitive, or 
that which acts without the element of logical se- 
quence and combination that pertains to conscious 
intellectual effort. Its faculties, in the case of 
every man, differ only in degree from the intelligent 
endowments of the brute-vertebrates, but are en- 
tirely and essentially different from the knowing 
faculties displayed by insects. It is not connected 
with certain highly-organized parts of the brain 
rather than with others, but with the brain in its 
totality. It is transmitted from parent to child, just 
as all that makes up its visible organism is ; and, 
though it had not its primal origin in any line of 
genetic evolution consisting in a consecutive pro- 
cession of types, yet how, in the first instance, it 
originated, is a question for which science does not 
yet afford an answer. 

Flint. — The mind is produced by the brain- 
6 



82 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

substance, and there can be no intelligence without 
that species of substance. 

Hammond. — The mind is the result of nervous 
action ; and the ability to perceive sensations, to be 
conscious, to understand, to experience emotions, 
and to will, is in accordance with such action. 
Consciousness resides exclusively in the brain ; but 
the other mental qualities are developed with more 
or less intensity in other parts of the nervous sys- 
tem, as well as in that one. 

Frederick Harrison. — The soul is a name for 
the combined faculties of the living human organism. 

Professor Huxley. — "I understand and I re- 
spect the meaning of the word soul, as used by 
pagan and Christian philosophers for what they 
believe to be the imperishable seat of human per- 
sonality, bearing throughout eternity its burden of 
woe, or its capacity for adoration and love. . . . 
And if I am not satisfied with the evidence that is 
offered me that such a soul and such a future life 
exist, I am content to take what is to be had, and to 
make the best of the brief span of existence that is 
within my reach, without reviling those whose faith 
is more robust, and whose hopes are richer and 
fuller." 

Professor Tyndall. — " That hypothesis [the 
hypothesis of a free human soul] is offered as an 
explanation or simplification of a series of phenom- 
ena more or less obscure. But adequate reflection 
shows that instead of introducing light into our 
minds, it increases our darkness." " Molecular mo- 
tion produces consciousness." " Amid all our spec- 
ulative uncertainty, there is one practical point as 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 83 

clear as the day — namely, that the brightness and 
the usefulness of life, as well as its darkness and dis- 
aster, depend to a great extent upon our own use or 
abuse of this miraculous organ." " From that hum- 
ble society [our non-human progenitors], through 
the interaction of its members and the storing-up of 
their best qualities, a better one emerged ; from this 
again a better still, until at length, by the integra- 
tion of infinitesimals through ages of amelioration, 
we came to be what we are to-day." 

Professor Virchow. — " At this moment there 
are, probably, few naturalists who are not of opinion 
that man is allied to the rest of the animal world, 
and that a connection will possibly be found, if not, 
indeed, with apes, then, perhaps, in some other di- 
rection." "But yet I must declare that every step 
of positive progress which we have made in the 
domain of pre-historic anthropology, has really re- 
moved us further away from the proof of this con- 
nection." " On the whole, we must really acknowl- 
edge that all fossil type of a lower human develop- 
ment is absolutely wanting." "As a fact, we must 
positively acknowledge that there is always a sbarp 
limit between man and the ape. We cannot teach, 
we cannot designate it as a revelation of science, 
that man descends from the ape, or from any other 
animal." 

Topinard. — There is no radical difference be- 
tween man and most animals ; and the fundamental 
distinction between him and the ape is in quantity 
of brain, of which the former has three or four 
times as much as the latter. Man had his origin in 
" an albuminous clot formed lr^ a fortuitous union 



84 THE GREAT SLTGHTED FORTUNE. 

of certain elements of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, 
and nitrogen." Out of that clot sprang, by spon- 
taneous generation, minute vital cells; these, after 
undergoing nine successive transformations, gave 
rise to a certain low genus of vertebrates (the am- 
phioxus lanoeolatus) ; and when there had occurred 
twenty-two long steps in the course of evolution, 
the human being appeared as the terminus of the 
line of tailless and tailed descendants. 

Letourneatj. — There is no separate existence 
under the name of mind, spirit, life, or force. The 
universe contains nothing but matter, the constit- 
uents of which are animated, self-existent, eternal 
atoms. These have a movement which they trans- 
mit to one another, and which, as it endlessly goes 
on, transforms itself in a multitude of ways. The 
transformations produce organisms, vital properties, 
sensations, perceptions, consciousness. Between 
organized living bodies and inorganic bodies, there 
is no radical ground of distinction. Living organ- 
isms are the results of spontaneous generation from 
inorganic matter. Life has no object, since it is 
simply the result of a fortuitous concurrence of 
cosmical, geological, climacteric, and even orological 
facts. The nerve-cells give rise to muscular con- 
tractions, are conscious of the effects produced on 
them by surrounding mediums, and are capable of 
experiencing pain and pleasure. They are intelli- 
gently alive to impressions. Not only can the3^ 
perceive sensations, but they can treasure them up, 
and, in a thousand modes, combine them. Indeed, 
they can think and will. 

Hedge. — The soul is a part of the planetary life, 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 85 

and can never, while that life endures, be divorced 
from the planetary system. Dying is not migration. 
This earth is to be man's future and eternal abode. 
In the course of human development the time is to 
come when death will no longer occupy the place it 
now does in the human economy. " We do not go 
to heaven, but heaven comes to us." Ultimately, 
the soul is to have a new organism, which will be of 
a corporeal nature, and it is supposable and likely 
that, in its prospective organism, the memories gar- 
nered up in connection with the present body will 
not be retained. The hypothesis of the soul's pre- 
existence best matches the supposition of its con- 
tinued existence hereafter. 

Bascom. — There is an unbridged gulf between 
the highest human intelligence and the highest in- 
telligence of brutes. Man has insight, with all the 
awe, the solemnity, and the fearfulness which go 
with it ; the brutes have it not. Man is capable of 
u alarms from a far-off future;" the brutes are ca- 
pable of no such alarms. Man recognizes " somber 
duties" as incumbent on him ; the brutes recognize 
no such duties as incumbent on them. Man is con- 
versant with high and wonderful intuitions — with 
piimary truths relative to being, to time, to space, 
to causation, to moral distinctions, to the spiritual 
and to the divine, to the infinite and to the eternal ; 
the brutes are strangers to all such truths. 

Whedon. — We have a lower generic class of 
mental operations which we share with brutes, and a 
higher which we share with higher natures than our 
own. " It may not be necessary to say there are 
two separate entities in us, yet it is certain the lower 



86 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

one does exist separately in the brutes, and that our 
own glorified bodies will lose most, if not all, our 
animal nature. And this is the very thing implied 
in Paul's soulical and spiritual body." The trinality 
of human nature, expressed by Paul in the terms 
body, soul, and spirit, has great value both in ex- 
egetics and in theology. 

Lionel Beale. — The living I and the vital 
power of the highest form of bioplasm or germinal 
matter in nature, are identical. 

Ulrici. — The soul is a distinct substance in us, 
that wherein inhere our sense of identity and our 
power to see and to feel. That we should conclude 
thus, is required by the law of cause and effect. 
There can not be a sense of identity without some- 
thing to which that sense belongs. There can not be 
seeing without something that sees. There can not 
be feeling without something that feels. We are 
capable of perceiving our identity, therefore there 
must be a perceiver of identity. The percipience 
of our identity is constant ; therefore the perceiver 
of it must be, in spite of the yearly change of the 
body, a constant, perennial unit. The soul acts both 
consciously and unconsciously. It is surrounded by 
a non-atomic ethereal " enswathement," from which 
it is not separated at death ; and the vital proper- 
ties of man result from the action of the soul on 
the body through that subtile inner medium. The 
soul, operating not only consciously but also uncon- 
sciously in union with its invisible semi-material in- 
vestiture, is the organizing life-principle in the body. 

Hermann Lotze. — The soul is the substantial 
and permanent bearer of the phenomena of our inner 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 87 

life. Like all other finite things, it is an illustration 
of the work of the Eternal. Not necessarily is it 
forever indestructible ; but it will endure forever, 
provided it is, " on account of its worth and mean- 
ing," a permanent member of the world's order. 
u All which lacks this worth will come to an end." 
We cannot well even dare to wish to decide " which 
spiritual creation has gained for itself immortality 
through the everlasting importance to which it has 
raised itself, and to which other this has been de- 
nied." Accordingly, the belief we are to fall back 
upon is the belief that " to every being will the lot 
fall to which it is entitled." 

Professor Ludwig Schoberlein. — The soul is 
essentially the vital organizing force which dwells 
in the body. Unlike the vital force which acts in 
plants, it is capable of sensation and of bringing the 
organism wherein it resides into different relations to 
the outer world. It appropriates from that world the 
materials suitable for its body. " The formation of the 
body is not a result of mere chemical affinities be- 
tween different elements of matter; but it is a vital 
process : it proceeds from the animate principle. The 
soul assumes to itself such elements as -adequately 
express objectively its life and its wants. It itself, and 
not chemical affinities, is the organizing principle." 
By nature, the soul is a participant of the Spirit of 
God, as well as of the realm of matter. It is conse- 
quently a substance that stands midway between 
nature and God, and man, by reason of this fact, is 
both a nature-soul, or yvx*], and a spirit-soul, or nvsvfia. 
It is inherent in him to gravitate toward the spirit- 
world. The soul's higher powers, those which are 



88 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

rational and spiritual, do not belong to it per se, but 
are called forth under a training which makes it 
appropriate to itself the elements of the world of 
spirit, wherewith it is constitutionally connected. 
By reason of its participation of the Spirit of God, 
it is destined to an endless life. In its absolutely 
natural condition, or when it is wholly within the 
sphere of nature, the soul does not plastically react 
on the body ; but its outgoings are, then, determined 
by its instincts, which are direct actions of God and 
direct realizations of His intention. " The highest 
perfection of the future no less than of the present 
life, calls for a corporeity of the soul." It will 
need a spiritual body in heaven, as much as it needs 
a fleshly body on earth ; and at death, it will depart 
with a germinally-extant spiritual body, which it 
will ultimately render complete by drawing to itself 
the quintessence of a transfigured or glorified mate- 
rial system. The spiritual body is immortal, because, 
" being participant of the spirit, it shares the spirit's 
immortality." In the present life, it is not a devel- 
oped organism, but the vital germ of one, like the 
germ which lies invisibly imbedded in the substance 
of the actual wheat-grain, and which " cannot come 
into actualit} r till that substance shall have fallen 
away." The matter out of which the spirit will 
finally consummate its inner germinal body, will be 
that of a new heaven and a new earth, resulting from 
the transfiguration by fire of the present system of 
external nature. The consummate organism man 
will have, after that grand general transfiguration, 
will be the resurrection-body. u It will move at 
will through the realm of space. Wherever the soul 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 89 

may will to be, there it will be able to be." Man's 
relation to nature will be an active relation. " The 
whole realm of glorified materiality will be one vast 
platform for the plastic influence of glorified spirits." 
The soul, by truly living on its spirit-side, not only 
becomes spiritualized, but has a spiritualizing effect 
on its body and on other matter. It thus tends to 
exalt itself from a merely psychic or soulical into a 
pneumatic state. Jesus had the Spirit of God nat- 
urally as all other men ; but he yielded to its full 
guidance, and thus realized the union of human 
nature with the divine. In so doing, he laid the 
foundation for the transfiguration of his body; and 
the transfiguring process went on in it continually, the 
effect of the same being often shown in his miracles 
of mastery over his frame and over external nature. 
The change of his fleshly organism into a resurrec- 
tion-body was completed after his death. " The 
essence of his body remained the same ; simply the 
mode of its existence was changed." It is by' our 
free choice between a merely psychic life and a life 
of communion with the divine Spirit, that we real- 
ize the higher spiritualization of our nature ; and 
God's incarnation and revelation of Himself are 
methods intended by Him to secure that end. 

Joseph Cook. — The opinion relative to the sours 
nature, which Mr. Cook holds and has advanced, 
would claim to be thoughtfully noticed here, even 
were it impossible to state more than a very few 
points of it correctly. He has done a great service 
for Americans and Englishmen, in unfolding in the 
terms of his incisive and brilliant rhetoric, the philo- 
sophic and psychological ideas of those masterly 



90 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

German thinkers, Ulrici, Lotze, and Schoberlein — 
ideas which (if I mistake not) are destined to have 
high prominence and familiar elucidation in the 
science, the art, the literature, and the theology of 
coming years. Not being able fully to understand 
his own theory on the subject mentioned, the pres- 
ent writer submitted to a valued, clear-minded cor- 
respondent (Rev. Charles B. Sheldon, pastor of the 
Congregational Church in San Buenaventura, Cal.) 
these two questions : " What is Cook's doctrine of 
the soul ? Does he make the life-power and the 
soul (TO 7 /) identical ? " The following is the in- 
teresting answer which was received : 

" 'Does he make the life-power and the soul (<A^ f /) identical?' 
I think not. I understand him to adopt Ulriei's theory, that ' the 
soul is the occupant of a non-atomic ether, that fills the whole 
form and lies behind the mysterious weaving of the tissues.' 'It 
co-operates with the vital force, but is not identical with it.' This 
is a point which he says Lotze and Ulrici take much pains to dis- 
tinguish. ' The immaterial principle [by this I suppose he must 
mean the soul, the V 1 ^ 1 ?] i s not necessarily to be thought of as 
identical with what has been called the vital force. That which 
moves these bioplasts, and causes them to build on a plan kept in 
view from the first and maintained as a unit to the last, we say 
must be an adequate cause of these motions, and that is not the 
vital force simply, although it may be the vital force, with this 
other psychical force behind it; and yet the two are always to be 
carefully distinguished from each other.' Man has a threefold 
constitution: the atomic material body (corpus), the immaterial 
spirit (soul), and a somewhat intermediate ' enswathement' (I do 
not like that term) which is non- atomic and so far immaterial, yet 
it has some of the properties of matter, such as extension, length, 
breadth, and thickness. I do not think Cook is clear in defining 
what he means by ' vital force.' Evidently he cannot use this 
term as identical in import with ' life ; ' for he elsewhere defines 
life to be 'the power which co-ordinates germinal matter.' Now, 
put this definition in the above quotation, in the place of the words, 
1 That which moves these bioplasts,' &c, and we will have the 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 91 

statement, 'Life, the power which co-ordinates germinal matter, 
is not the vital force simply, but the vital force with this other 
psychical force behind it.' Now, if life is not vital force, what is 
vital force? Is it identical with this spiritual or ethereal body? 
Probably he would say, No, though I confess myself somewhat 
confused with his use of different terms. But to go on unfolding 
his view, chiefly in his own language : ' The soul, as the occupant of 
this ethereal enswathement, operates in part unconsciously and in 
part consciously. It is the morphological agent which weaves all 
living tissues, nerves, tendons, the brain, &c. [This seems to 
make the soul, together with its enswathement, identical with life- 
power.] When it rises to the state of consciousness, it produces 
the phenomena known as thought, emotion, will. The proof that 
there is such a non-atomic substance, in which mind inheres, is, 
that it is required by the persistence of our sense of individuality, 
or our unity of consciousness or sense of identity. This seems 
inconsistent with the constant flux of particles which takes place 
in our material bodies. There must be some permanent substra- 
tum as the foundation for this unity of consciousness. For every 
effect must have an adequate cause. Another proof is the unity 
of plan on which our bodies are constantly woven. The particles 
change, the plan persists. There must be a somewhat that causes 
this permanence of form. We supply the non-atomic spiritual 
body.' Now, I am not sure that I have in all this answered your 
questions. I thought at first that I knew Cook's position. But I 
am not so confident of it now as when I began. To the inquiry, 
' Does he make the life-power and the soul identical ? ' I answer 
modestly, No ; but he holds that the soul, together with a non- 
atomic form in which it inheres and with which it co-operates, is 
the life-power, or, in other words, the power which co-ordinates 
germinal matter." 



92 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



VII. 

DEFINITIONS OF THE SOUL. 

" The pressure of the general intellectual influences of the 
time determines the predispositions which ultimately regulate the 
details of belief; and though all men do not yield to that pressure 
with the same facility, all large bodies are at last controlled." 

Leckt, History of Rationalism in Europe. 

" The change of times and the change of conditions change also 
the appearance of things which in themselves are the same they 
always were." Froude, Short Studies on Great Subjects, p. 200. 

What is a just and adequate statement, expres- 
sive of the ideas and the conclusions which are worthy 
to be treasured up as truths concerning the self- 
knowing substance ? Here is an inquiry which, to 
say the least, is trying to human capability and a 
test of human enlightenment. Many are they who, 
though actually rich in knowledge of that viewless 
heritage whence comes all the brightness which be- 
longs to the faces of mortals, prefer, whenever they 
are plied for a definition of it, either to be silent or 
to answer evasively. Were the inquiry named above 
to be submitted to them, the way in which they 
would treat it might be modest enough, but it would 
fall far short of being the best. " Know thyself" 
was the motto inscribed on the Delphic temple of 
old. And Pope says : 

" Be sure yourself, and your own reach to know." 

It is good to know ourselves j is it not good also 
to define ourselves? It must be confessed, how- 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 93 

ever, that to do this is not easy. Indeed, when the 
attempt to do it is most successful, the result of the 
doing is but an unfinished work. Why must it be 
so ? Do we not hold to our conscious nature a rela- 
tion of the greatest possible closeness ? " We are 
nearer neighbors to ourselves," says Montaigne, 
" than whiteness to snow or weight to stones." And 
if this declaration of that tireless, honest, ever- 
cheerful student of the soul be true, what, then, is 
there to prevent us being well able, explicitly and 
fully, to tell what the soul is ? I will intimate the 
explanation. 

We are not such beings as can know all that any- 
thing is; consequently, we can never, except approxi- 
mately, define a given thing. The measure of what 
we can know about the soul, is, in all probability, 
very small in comparison with the measure of what 
we cannot know about it ; therefore we will, in all 
probability, never be able, in undertaking to define 
it, to present other than a comparatively very incom- 
plete statement. Certain it is, however, that just 
in proportion to the increase of our knowledge of 
the soul, in that proportion will our definition of it 
become more and more comprehensive. Progress 
respecting the former is the co-mate of progress 
respecting the latter. If one belonging to some 
snowless clime, should see snow falling softly from 
the welkin, the definition he would at first give of 
it would embrace only one or two facts about it. 
After learning that every flake of snow is a collec- 
tion of beautiful little snow-crystals, he would 
modify his definition in such a manner as to make 
it express more about snow ; and after learning that 



94 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

flakes of snow-crystals are produced by the freezing 
of drops of rain in the air, when the air is under a 
certain degree of frigid temperature, he would, of 
course, modify again his definition, making it ex- 
press still more about that same fair physical wonder. 
Now, so it is in the case of the soul. The acqui- 
sition of knowledge concerning this entity is a con- 
tinuous and never-ending process. Carlyle quotes 
the saying, " Man is perennially interesting to 
man." It is a true averment. Man finds in man 
communications more interesting to him than any 
others that originate within the bounds of this 
world. The author of them is the soul, and the 
theme of them is the soul ; and he studies them, 
and studies them, and tires not of studying them, 
for they have a charm which is unfailing. Those 
communications are the soul's phenomena. From 
immemorial time they have, as if there were some 
marvelous magic in them, wrought upon human 
attention. In the present age they are studied 
under circumstances far better adapted than were 
those of any former age to aid in securing a correct 
interpretation of them, and by intellects far better 
qualified than were those of former ages to pene- 
trate through them into the self-knowing substance 
which is their producer. As the study of them has 
gone on, in one period of history and another, it has 
sometimes had for its consequence the abandonment 
of notions entertained concerning the soul, and some- 
times the addition of new ideas and conclusions to 
those already held in respect to it, the result gener- 
ally being an increase of knowledge relative to that 
entity. The same study will go on in the future ; 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 95 

and who can doubt that it will result in a deeper and 
deeper penetration into mental mysteries, and in suc- 
cessive additions to the stock of human knowledge 
of the human being? And just as in the past the 
statement used to express what was held in relation 
to the soul became more and more comprehensive ac- 
cording to the progress which was made in knowing 
the soul, so in the future the statement used to ex- 
press what is held in relation to it will become more 
and more comprehensive according to the same 
kind of progress ; for definitions ever take shape 
in harmony with ideas and conclusions which are 
adopted as knowledge. The scientist can never tell 
all that electricity is ; but he may hope to become 
able, in defining it, to state much more of what is 
true about it than he can state now. The theo- 
logian can never declare all that God is ; but he 
may hope to become able to define God more fully, 
more wisely, more satisfactorily. And likewise, the 
explorer of the soul, while certain that he can never 
in any definition tell all that it is, may hope to be- 
come able to set forth in his statement of what is 
true concerning it much more than he can, at pres- 
ent, formulate, or even vaguely suggest. 

It is evident that he who speaks of the soul's na- 
ture should not speak dogmatically. Let him firmty 
declare what he firmly believes respecting the self- 
knowing substance ; but let him not declare the 
same as if he were giving a definition for men of 
future ages. It were well if, before venturing to 
speak thereof, he should learn a lesson from the 
Sphinx concerning silence, and a lesson from ancient 
wisdom concerning comprehensiveness. Perchance, 



96 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

even in that case, better far than his will be the 
words,,of some after-comer who shall treat the same 
subject. 

It was not the intention of the writer of these 
pages to construct a formal definition of the soul. 
He aimed at something much more useful — namely, 
to specify and illustrate the more important ideas 
and conclusions which " the pressure of the general 
intellectual influences " of the passing period con- 
strains one to express in such a definition. The 
purpose here mentioned will now be carried into 
effect. 



VIII. 

THE INNATE DIGNITY OF THE SOUL. 

"By the soul 
Only the nations shall be great and free." 

Wordsworth. 

The soul is by nature a superior entity. In other 
words, there belongs to it a high degree of innate 
dignity. Often it is treated as if it were inferior, 
unimportant, cheap, — perhaps as if it were of little 
more account than some leaf of paper which may 
fitly enough be scribbled on and blotted ; but, how- 
ever ignobly it may be treated, it is never in itself 
ignoble. On the contrary, there is due it, from the 
first moment of its existence, a rare respect, on ac- 
count of its elevated inborn rank. By comparing 
what we are conscious of as belonging to it, and what 
we observe to be its outer phenomena with what 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 97 

we perceive to appertain to other finite things, and 
to be manifestations of their essence, we can settle 
the question whether the former is or is not by nature 
more estimable and more admirable than the latter. 
And who has never formed thus an opinion of the 
inherent superiority of the self-knowing substance ? 
Who has never thus arrived at the conclusion that, 
in point of inherited nobility, that substance is wor- 
thy of a surpassing repute ? 

With a very great admiration men have viewed 
and contemplated the sun. In by-gone periods, 
there were fond beholders of it, who hesitated not 
to regard it as something inexpressibly majestic and 
sublime. As they saw that magnificent dispenser 
of daylight rising and setting to the world, illumi- 
nating the hills and the valleys, gilding with bright- 
ness the waters, imparting warmth to the soil, and 
causing luxuriance to spring up out of decay-smitten 
matter, strength out of dust, and beauty out of dark- 
ness, they were ready to honor it as an exalted thing 
in " the most ancient heavens." Some of them — 
the pagan saints of old Egypt, and even Pythagoras 
and his reverent pupils at Crotona, in Greece — 
deemed it to be divine, and worshiped it. Plu- 
tarch speaks of Eudoxus, an ardent explorer of 
.nature, who wished and begged of the gods that he 
might once be permitted to see the sun near at 
hand, and to gain a knowledge of its form, its great- 
ness, and its beauty, though he should be consumed 
while in the exercise of the privilege. 

But what, after all, is the innate dignity of the 
sun in comparison with that of the soul? This is 
a question which we, who enjoy the information 
7 



98 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

afforded by modern science, are in a goodly measure 
qualified to answer. We know that that master- 
luminary, which Ronsard describes as 

" At rest without rest, idle without stay, 
Nature's first son, and father of the day," 

is not divine. We know that it is a vast sphere of 
revolving matter about ninety-two millions of miles 
distant, and that it turns on its axis once in twenty- 
five days. We know that its surface is in a molten 
and hideously eruptive state, so that, though to us 
it seems to be quiet, there is a noise produced by its 
convulsions which exceeds a million-fold that of an 
earthquake. We know that, far above the boiling, 
raging surface of the sun, are vapors cooler than the 
matter which is beneath them, and that those vapors 
contain particles of iron, of copper, of sodium, and 
of other metals, which are evidences that the sun is 
composed of materials similar to those of our globe. 
We know that masses of glowing gas are in process 
of upheaval there, and that some of them — those 
of hydrogen — are thrown up to the height of two 
hundred thousand miles. And we have reason to 
conclude that there are specimens of those huge 
fiery gas-columns which, bearing with them metallic 
and mineral atoms, ascend at the rate of five hun- 
dred miles per second, and that these pass entirely 
away from the sun, and never return to it. 

Such is that bright orb to which so many of the 
ancients paid daily adoration. It is only an enor- 
mous inflamed material bulk, formed of elements like 
the constituents of the earth. And accordingly, just 
as one feels himself compelled to regard the earth as 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 99 

unspeakably inferior by nature to the soul, so he 
feels himself compelled to regard the sun as un- 
speakably inferior by nature to it. The soul has not 
to depend for guidance in action, as the sun does, 
on power which belongs to some other entity ; it 
can guide itself. The soul, when disturbed and con- 
vulsed, is not obliged to continue in its wild state, 
as far-off, burning, blazing, heaving Sol must in his, 
till the calm might of some other entity shall assuage 
the tempest of fire, and bring peace ; it can, in the 
time of its intense tumult, look back on its fierce 
lava-sea,- and say, " Peace, be still ! " It is innately 
royal. It is that which can calculate where an un- 
discovered continent should be, and then direct a 
ship across strange trackless waters to that conti- 
nent's green outskirts ; and it is that which can 
calculate where an undiscovered planet should be, 
and then take sight at the empyreal expanse through 
an adjusted telescope, and ken that very planet in 
its course. The soul ! it is the home of quenchless 
longings, and the subject of endless stirrings. The 
soul ! it is the one sublunary substance that can 
forecast distant futurity, that can weave the^ web of 
its own fortune, that can be " an adventurer for an- 
other world." 



100 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

IX. 

THE DISTINCTNESS OF THE SOUL FROM THE BODY. 

"There is a spirit in man." 

Book of Job, xxxii. 8. 

" The soul is an incorporeal substance." 

Gregory Nyssen. 

Carlyle makes his thoughtful Professor Teufels- 
drokh assure us that man is never altogether a 
clothes-horse ; that under the clothes which he 
wears are always a body and a soul. One would 
hardly suppose anything could be said to the con- 
trary. Certain it is, however, that the question 
whether beneath the garb of humanity there are two 
entities, a body and a soul, the one distinct from the 
other, is, in the estimation of some of the most busy 
and vigorous physicists and philosophers of the pass- 
ing age, far from being settled. Men there are, 
such as Darwin, as Spencer, as Helmholtz, as Hackel, 
as Virchow, as Huxley, as Tyndall, as Flint, as 
Hammond, as Youmans, as Maudsley, who are tire- 
lessly exploring the deeps of human nature, in order 
to determine whether it is true that there is a spirit 
in man, — a soul which is an incorporeal substance, 
— or true that he is only a living organism, having 
a class of organic functions that have been errone- 
ously attributed to a spiritual entity. Let us glance 
at the materialistic and the anti-materialistic reason- 
ings on this inquiry. 

During the present life, that which is described 
as the soul never acts and never expresses itself, 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 101 

except as it does so through the corporeal organism; 
are not, then, what are called the soul's acts and 
states, phenomena which are produced by that or- 
ganism ? In swoons there is no sign whatever of a 
soul's existence in the body ; are not swoons, then, 
bodily states in which the corporeal organism is in- 
capacitated to produce those phenomena which are 
called mental ? In sound sleep there is a complete 
cessation of mental activity ; is not sound sleep, 
then, a bodily state in which the corporeal organ- 
ism is unfitted to give rise to sensation, perception, 
emotion, thought? By actual experiment, it has 
been demonstrated that feeling (for example, in 
the case of a wound) is propagated along the line of 
the nerves to the brain at the rate of about one hun- 
dred and twelve, and from that to two hundred, feet 
per second ; so that, to cite an illustration given 
by Proctor, if an infant were born with an arm 
long enough to reach the sun, and if, while in the 
cradle, that infant were to stretch out its arm and 
touch the sun, it would need to become a hundred 
and thirty-five years old, before it could be con- 
scious of the fact that the tip of its finger had been 
burned by that blazing orb. Again ; it has been 
shown by experiment that, after an impression has 
been telegraphed along the nerves to the brain, an 
appreciable amount of time is required for the for- 
mation of an idea of that impression ; and that, ac- 
cordingly, in cases of a very quick exchange of 
impressions, such as occurs in winking, one fails to 
have any idea of the exchange, because there is not 
time enough for an idea of it to be formed. More- 
over, it has been experimentally shown that when- 



102 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ever an idea arises, a change, which is of the nature 
of a movement, is wrought in the gray matter of the 
brain ; that this change occupies an appreciable 
amount of time ; that, without it, no idea ever 
springs up ; and that if there is an inadequate 
supply of healthy blood, an interruption of nerve- 
communication, a compression of the brain, or an 
exhausted, acidulous state of the nerve-element, the 
change or movement on which the upspringing of 
the idea depends, will not ensue. And, in addition 
to the foregoing statements, it may be said that 
physicists seem to have ascertained that there are 
physiological grounds for such conclusions as these : 
— that, in the case of recollection or the conscious 
retention of a past idea, there is always an existing 
tendency of the nerve-element to repeat the same 
movement which occurred in it at the time of the 
first rise of that idea ; that deficiency or disorder of 
memory is ever proportionate to deterioration of 
nerve-element ; that the reason why pain, when it 
has ceased, cannot be remembered as it actually 
was, is because the tendency to repetition of move- 
ment in the nerve-element, which resulted from the 
movement occasioned therein at the time the pain 
was felt, has been neutralized by the restoration of 
the nerve-element to a painless state ; and that the 
peculiar phenomena displayed by somnambulists and 
mesmerized persons are invariably attended by only 
a partial circulation of blood in the brain, and by an 
activity of that organ only in particular areas.* Is 
there not, theni a good foundation for the material- 

* See the work entitled Physiology of 31ind, by Henry Mauds- 
ley, M. D. (Appleton.) 



THE INESTIMABLE INTEEIOE HEEITAGE. 103 

istic theory of mental acts and conscious states ? 
Is not the opinion entirely reasonable, that sensa- 
tion, thought, emotion, volition, calculation, are not 
properly attributable to a free human soul distinct 
from the human body ? 

But pause here, reader. 

A brief examination of the facts expressed in the 
foregoing statements will suffice to show that there 
is no need to deduce from them such inferences as 
those which have been mentioned. The reason why 
the soul, during the present life, acts and manifests 
itself only through the visible body, may be that it 
is somehow hindered from doing otherwise. Per- 
haps (as many great investigators have believed) it 
has a finely-constituted invisible inner organism, 
which in this life is incompletely developed and only 
slightly employed, but which it could wonderfully 
use if it had opportunit}^. Indeed, does not the case 
of Swedenborg seem to show, not only that the soul 
has such an interior organism, but that it may, even 
while this life is passing, become able to use the 
same to some extent as an instrument, in conjunc- 
tion with the visible body ? The non-exercise and 
the non-manifestation of the soul, in cases of swoon- 
ing and of sound sleep, are completely accounted 
for, by supposing that, in such cases, it cannot, in 
its ordinary way, enter into conscious states. All 
that has been ascertained respecting the rate at 
which feeling is transmitted from an impressed nerve 
to the brain ; respecting the time necessary for the 
upspringing of an idea after an impression on a 
nerve has been telegraphed to the brain ; respecting 
the change, movement, vibration, or whatever it be 



104 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

called, which occurs in the gray cerebral matter 
when an idea arises, and which does not occur 
therein unless an idea does arise ; respecting a resid- 
ual tendency, as existing in the nerve-element in 
the case of recollection ; and respecting the cerebral 
conditions of somnambulistic and of mesmeristic 
phenomena, — all this leaves unshaken and unim- 
paired the doctrine that the soul is a distinct entity. 
Molecular constitution and motion are unquestion- 
ably concerned in some intimate manner in our pres- 
ent mode of entering into states of consciousness ; 
but what a leap is it to deduce from such a premise 
the conclusion that there is no soul ? Why may 
there not be within us a substance which, the mo- 
ment it shall have opportunity, will be able to think 
and to recall ideas by means of an instrument very 
different from that now employed in the discharge 
of mental functions ? Reader, let not any prema- 
ture inferences be imposed on thee ! And prema- 
ture, certainly, is the inference of Carl Vogt, that 
thought is a secretion of the brain ; the inference of 
Haller, that ideas are impressions made on the brain ; 
the inference of Bonnel, that they are oscillatory 
motions of the cerebral molecules ; the inference of 
Huxley, that they are results of molecular composi- 
tion, and that the power of producing them dies with 
the body ; the inference of Maudsley, that they are 
currents of molecular movement passing along nerv- 
ous circuits ; and the inference of Tyndall, that they 
are physical phenomena produced by or associated 
with molecular motions in the cerebral organ. 

In ability to judge fairly and correctly of scientific 
facts in their bearing on the question of the soul's 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 105 

distinctness as an entity, that great man, Agassiz, 
was behind no physicist of modern times ; and his 
opinion he plainly told in the remark : 

"I shall not say, nor do I believe, the mental faculties are a 
product of these [the corporeal] organs." 

One strong natural evidence in favor of the con- 
clusion that the phenomena known as mental are to 
be ascribed to an incorporeal substance, is the testi- 
mony of consciousness. I am certain that I exist, 
because I am conscious that I exist. I am certain 
that I who exist do not exist merely as a body capa- 
ble of functional activities, because I am conscious 
of activities on my part that are totally and widely 
different from any of those which I know my body 
can perform. Why is it, if men are not spiritual 
entities in bodies, they should ever be conscious that 
they are such ? Observe how, in various ages of the 
world, they have described human nature. The 
Pythagoreans and the Platonists (as we learn from 
Jamblichus, Nemesius, Sallust, and Laertius) repre- 
sented man as " a compound of three differing parts," 
namely, the body (auu«), the soul as to its less emi- 
nent capabilities (y^), and the soul as to its pre- 
eminent intellectual potency (nvevfm or vov{). " There 
are three things," says Marcus Antoninus, " which 
belong to a man : the body, the soul, and the mind 
(vovg)" St. Paul, in his First Epistle to the Thessa- 
lonians, adopts a like manner of speaking ; for he 

Uses the phrase, 'oldxlqgov 'vuibv ib nvev/ta, xal r r] ipv^rj, 

xal to ocbfiay (" your whole spirit, and soul, and body.") 
The same terms of distinction are employed by Ire- 
nseus, who says, " A perfect man consists of body, 



106 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

soul, and spirit ; " and by Origen, who says, " Man 
is composed of body, soul, and spirit." The Ger- 
mans, in their description of man, represent him as 
comprising a bod}^ and a soul, and represent his soul 
as comprising the ordinary conscious intelligence 
(yer stand), and the reason (yernunft) ; meaning by the 
former the reflective or logical faculties, and by rea- 
son the intuitional faculty, or that by which truth is 
discovered without any experience of mental effort. 
The English-speaking nations usually describe man 
as consisting of body, intellect, sensibilities, and 
will, signifying by the three latter designations, not 
three separate, spiritual entities, but three great 
divisions under which respectively the capabilities 
of one and the same spiritual entity are classifiable. 

This, then, is what is clearly revealed by the lan- 
guages of mortals : That, from distant past times to 
the present hour, men have comprehensively de- 
scribed man as a living being with a body and a 
soul, the one distinct from the other, and have rep- 
resented man's soul as possessing different capabili- 
ties or faculties, some inferior to others. And why 
thus rather than otherwise ? Consciousness provides 
the answer. By this we are assured, — by this the 
men who shall live a hundred generations hence 
will be assured, — that the body is not the soul, and 
the soul is not the body ; that the body is not neces- 
sary to the continuance of the life of the soul, but 
the soul is necessary to the continuance of the life 
of the body; that while the body is a vitalized 
organism the soul is in it, and when the body is 
dead the soul is out of it. By this we know, — by 
this the men of future ages will know, — that (as 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 107 

Montaigne affirms) " the body, saving in greater or 
less proportion, has but one and the same bent and 
bias ; whereas, the soul is variable into all sorts of 
forms, and subjects to herself, and to her own em- 
pire, all things whatsoever, both the senses of the 
body, and all other accidents." 

Consciousness does not help us to solve all prob- 
lems about ourselves. Neither by this nor by any 
other means can we learn how the inner man is 
united to the outer. " The manner whereby souls 
adhere to bodies," says Saint Augustine, "is alto- 
gether wonderful and cannot be conceived by man." 
And says Beilby Porteus, " We can as easily con- 
ceive the connection and mutual influence of soul 
and body, as we can explain how two mathematical 
lines, indefinitely produced, can be forever approach- 
ing each other, and yet never meet." But con- 
sciousness certainly helps to solve the problem 
(declared by Tyndall to be the final problem), 
whether our intellectual and moral processes are or 
are not *f physical origin and subject to physical 
laws; whether "the will of man is free, or it and 
nature are equally ' bound fast in fate.' " 



108 THE GJSEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

X. 

THE SOUL THE REAL HUMAN SELF. 

" The Self, the I, is recognized in every act of intelligence, as 
the subject to which that act belongs." Sir William Hamilton. 

" The man, most man, 
Works best for men; and, if most man indeed, 
He gets his manhood plainest from his soul." 

Mks. Browning, Aurora Leigh, p. 348. 

What is that which makes man veritably him- 
self? Is it his body? No; for the moment the 
vital breath has gone out of that, it is a corpse, not 
a man. Is it life in the sense of vitality? No ; for 
plants have that; yet plants, those "children of the 
earth," — unlike men, those " children of the ether," 
— are destitute of permanent, distinct, self-knowing 
selves. The self of man is that to which Socrates 
had reference when, discoursing to Alcibiades, he said 
to that handsome young listener : 

"The man is that which uses the body; now, does anything use 
the body but the mind? Is not the mind, therefore, the man? " 

He, of course, employed the term mind, in that 
instance, to signify what is now generally meant by 
the term soul. 

The soul is the foundation of all man's unfailing 
notability as an inhabitant of earth. The soul is 
•the center whence emanates the real man-life and 
man-light. The soul is that which exerts the real 
man-power. The soul is the very man himself. Ac- 
cordant with these declarations are the fine words 
of Guthrie: 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 109 

"They say I am growing old because my hair is silvered, and 
there are crows' feet on my forehead, and my step is not so firm 
and elastic as of yore. But they are mistaken. That is not me. 
The knees are weak ; but the knees are not me. The brow is 
wrinkled; but the brow is not me. This is the house in which 
I live." 

The body of a fellow-being is entitled to receive 
honor, but never as if it were the fellow-being him- 
self. That without which man could not be man, 
is something that cannot be measured in feet and 
inches, something that cannot be clad with visible 
garments. It is that in him which can say, " I am I ; " 
that in him which, by means of his organic frame, 
sees, hears, touches, tastes, smells, goes, comes, seeks, 
speaks. This no foe can kill. It may be serene, 
though a tempest roars around it. It may be rich 
in acquisitions, though the visible form wherein it 
for a season dwells, wears a garb which is open at 
the elbows. Said a thoughtful man : 

"When a stranger treats me with a want of proper respect, I 
comfort myself with the reflection that it is not myself he slights, 
but my old shabby coat and bat, which, to say the truth, have no 
particular claims to admiration. So, if my coat and hat choose 
to fret about it, let them. It is nothing to me." 

And to these words he might well have added some 
pointed remark like that of which Carlyle is the 
author : *' Courtesy is the due of man to man, not 
of suit of clothes to suit of clothes." 

In realhty, the fairest of persons is the one that 
has the fairest soul; the purest of persons is the one 
whose soul is the cleanest ; the mightiest of persons 
is the one whose soul wields the most influence ; the 
wealthiest of persons is " the millionaire of intellect." 
The real king of men is he who represents the kind 



110 THE GKEAT SLIGHTED EORTUNE. 

of kingship which, according to Ruskin, consists in 
a stronger moral state, and a truer thoughtful state, 
than that of others, enabling one, therefore, to guide or 
to rouse them. 

A human being, standing on the earth, is like the 
auriferous ore which is gathered in the mountains. 
Just as the latter derives all its lasting importance 
from the gold substance that is in it, so the former 
derives all his or her lasting importance from the 
thinking substance that is inside his Qr her corporeal 
frame. Men pay a high regard to gold. They honor 
it with tributes of ambitious ardor and eager devo- 
tion ; with vast outlays ; with costly sacrifices. To 
obtain it, they have done who can tell what ? they 
are ready to do who can imagine what ? For its 
sake, some are bearing heavy burdens ; some are 
daring the dangers of long journeys by land, or the 
perils of long voyages by sea ; some are braving the 
pestilence ; some are confronting beasts of prey and 
cannibal savages. And why, do men, at so great 
cost, prosecute their quest after it ? Evidently be- 
cause it has so high a degree of intrinsic estimable- 
ness. Now, the soul is the gold of human nature. 
Consider how it enriches the outward man ! Would 
not the most beautiful face soon become utterly poor 
were this precious thing to be removed from behind 
it? Consider what never-diminishing consequence 
goes with it ! Do not the tallest trees, the grandest 
beasts, and even the eagle that cleaves with its 
mighty wings the clear air of the great cerulean 
expanses, seem less important than the least creature 
that has a human soul? When Burns, that poet 
"of Nature's own making," said, 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. Ill 

" The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
The man 's the gold for all that," 

he had reference not to a form, so many feet by 
so many inches in stature, and having an outer skin 
composed of cloth ; no, he had reference to the soul, 
that which shines through the body and renders it 
affluent ; that which, whether it is located in a 
peasant's brain or a prince's, is the very man of the 
man, the real self of the being. 



XI. 

THE CAPABILITIES OF THE SOUL. 

" For never, that I could in searching find out, has man been, 
by time which devours so much, deprivated of any faculty what- 
soever that he in any era was possessed of." Sauerteig. 

The soul, according as it is differently directed, 
becomes the subject of different stirrings and states, 
of which some are passive and some active. Refer- 
able either to the former or to the latter of these 
two classes, are the feelings which are known as 
pain and pleasure ; the sensations connected with 
seeing, hearing, touching, &c. ; the spontaneous ex- 
periences which are called instinctive ; the opera- 
tions suggested by the terms appetite, propensity, 
desire, affection, passion, perception, recollection, 
imagination, abstraction, judgment, argumentation, 
intuition, volition, hope, wonder, faith. The fact 
that these passive and active awakenings and pro- 



112 THE Git EAT SLIGHTED FOKTUNE. 

cesses so readily occur, or are so readily brought to 
pass on the part of the soul from an early period in 
its history, has led men to represent them as its 
" functions." In harmony with this mode of speak- 
ing is that line in Pope's Essay on Man : 

"As the mind opens and its functions spread." 

A more familiar mode of representation, occasioned 
by the same fact, is that in which the soul is de- 
scribed as having powers, each of which, like each 
organ of the body, has its appointed office or work. 
Instead of the term powers, there is often employed 
the term faculties, frequently the term endowments, 
not rarely the term capacities, and sometimes the 
term capabilities. As a general designation, the one 
of these which is last mentioned is evidently the 
most convenient. But, be it understood, when the 
soul is said to have different capabilities, powers, 
faculties, or whatever they may be called, the mean- 
ing is not that it has different energies. Men affirm 
that the soul has a faculty, the office of which is to 
recall ideas ; and they tell us the name of it is mem- 
ory. What do they, when they thus speak, intend 
to signify ? Certainly, they cannot well aim to ex- 
press anything incompatible with this : that the con- 
scious self, the Ego, is such by nature that it can 
and does recall ideas. Says an erudite writer 
(James Esdaile, author of the article on Logic in 
the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia) : 

" It should be remembered that the mind is one and indivisible, 
and .that what have been called its different faculties are nothing 
but the same energy directed to different subjects, and, on that 
account alone, designated by different names." 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 113 

And Carlyle, in his Heroes and Hero- Worship 

(p. 95), remarks : 

"What, indeed, are faculties? We talk of faculties as if they 
were distinct, things separable ; as if a man had intellect, imagi- 
nation, fancy, &c, as he has hands, feet, and arms. That is a 
capital error. Then, again, we hear of a man's ' intellectual na- 
ture,' and of his ' moral nature,' as if these again were divisible, 
and existed apart. . . . We ought to know withal, and to keep 
forever in mind, that these divisions are at bottom but names ; 
that man's spiritual nature, the vital force which dwells in him, is 
essentially one and indivisible." 

A convenient illustration of the unity of energy 
or force, which exists in the case of the soul, may be 
found in the similar unity of energy or force which 
has been proved to exist in the case of external 
nature. All material substances consist of atoms or 
molecules, in a state of cohesion; and every ma- 
terial energy is reducible to a motion of material 
atoms or molecules. Take a piece of iron and heat 
it; take a needle and magnetize it ; take a glass jar 
and charge it with electricity ; and when you shall 
have performed these several acts, what, in reality, 
will you have done ? Certainly, you will not have 
added anything to the piece of iron, to the needle, 
and to the glass jar. You will simply have given, 
in the case of the first, a certain motion to its atoms 
which is called heat-force, and, in the case of the 
second, a certain motion to its atoms which is called 
magnetic force, and, in the case of the third, a cer- 
tain motion to its atoms which is called electric 
force. Vitality itself is but a motion of atoms; 
and, in the case of man, the prime cause of it is, in 
all likelihood, his soul. Now, though we cannot 
8 



114 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

attribute to the soul atomic or molecular motion, we 
can employ the unity of the seemingly separate en- 
ergies of matter to help us in forming a conception 
of the unity of the seemingly separate energies of 
the soul. 

The soul's capabilities may be enumerated under 
seven orders. There are, first, the basal ones. This 
order includes the instincts (among which are that 
of suction, that of deglutition, that of sympathy, 
and that of life-preservation) ; the power to feel 
pain and pleasure ; the power to experience sensa- 
tions of sight, of hearing, of touch, of taste, and 
of smell ; the appetites ; and the various powers 
known by the names amativeness, combativeness, 
destructiveness, adhesiveness, acquisitiveness, secre- 
tiveness, &c. There are, secondly, the intellectual 
capabilities, or those which are suggested by the 
term understanding. They are perception, memoiw, 
imagination, abstraction, judgment, the reasoning 
faculty, &c* There are, thirdly, the egoistic capa- 
bilities, or those which are related as no others are 
to the idea of the JEJgo, or self. They are self-love 
and the will. There are, fourthly, the domestic and 

* Some authorities (among them Ileid, Hutcheson, Stewart, 
Royer-Collard, and those old-time metaphysicians, Philoponus and 
Michael Ephesius) have named consciousness as one of the intel- 
lectual faculties or capabilities. But Sir William Hamilton, in 
the first chapter of his Philosophy of Perception, shows clearly 
that consciousness is a condition of intelligence rather than a 
mode of the mind. He calls it "the complement of our cognitive 
energies." That is to say, it is the condition indispensable to 
complete cognition in the case of the exercise of any one of the 
cognitive faculties, such as perception, memory, &c. 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 115 

social capabilities. This order includes the affection 
which results in marriage, the parental affection, the 
filial affection, the affection which exists between 
one child and another of the same family, the affec- 
tion of friend for friend, the affection which is called 
patriotism, the capability entitled the love of appro- 
bation, and the capability known by the name of 
benevolence. There are, fifthly, the spiritual capa- 
bilities. Under this head must be mentioned ideal- 
ity, veneration, conscience, hope, faith, and wonder 
— that faculty which leads one to acknowledge with 
rare emotions and expressions the new, the grand, 
aud the sublime. There is, sixthly, the intuitional 
capability. The Germans call it the vemunft — that 
is to say, the higher reason in us, which acts without 
our being conscious of its action. The English and 
the Americans usually designate it by the name com- 
mon sense. Sometimes it is termed the faculty of first 
principles. By this it is we see spontaneously the truth 
of those succinct sayings which are known as axioms. 
It is at its best in women and in men of genius. 
Goethe, speaking with reference to the high degree 
of it which is exhibited by fine females, applies to it 
the title of " the eternal womanly." Some partic- 
ular allusions to it have place in Agassiz' lecture on 
Vital Characteristics. He refers to it as " a superior 
power which controls our better nature, solves some- 
times suddenly and unexpectedly — nay, even in 
sleep — our problems and perplexities, suggests the 
right thing at the right time, acting through us 
without conscious action of our own, though sus- 
ceptible of training and elevation." A good in- 
stance illustrative of it is that of the inventor, Mat- 



116 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

thew Murray, of Leeds. When perplexed in his 
attempts at invention, it was his custom to rest 
night and day, so far as it was possible for him to do 
so, from all voluntary effort. And in the moments 
of his quiet, the idea he wanted " would steal in 
and look at him, and light on him, and stay, as birds 
used to light on the old hermits, no more afraid of 
them than of the trees under which they sat." 
Wordsworth doubtless alludes to the same power in 
those lines, where, excusing himself to his "good 
friend Matthew " for sitting and dreaming, " for the 
length of half a day," on an old gray stone by 
Esthwaite Lake, he avers — 

" That we can feed this mind of ours 
In a wise passiveness." 

And adds the words : 

" Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum 
Of things forever speaking, 
That nothing of itself will come, 
But we must still be seeking? 

"Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, 
Conversing as I may, 
I sit upon this old gray stone, 
And dream my time away." * 

* An excellent friend of the author — a man of fine, pellucid 
mind and of rare spirituality — relates, in a letter, as folloAvs, the 
method whereby he is accustomed, in moments of perplexing 
doubt, to open the way fully for some enlightening outcome from 
the same capability: "This is my way of solving difficulties and 
getting light on dark points. I fix my mind upon the subject, look 
at it with the present light I have, and then lift up my spiritual 
sense toward the Source of all light and wisdom, and holding it 
attent, say, ' Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth ; ' and I have 
thus often verified the promise, 'If any man lack wisdom,' &c. 
My mind is thus often led to conclusions which satisfy me, and 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 117 

But to resume: there is, lastly, the magnetic ca- 
pability. By this I mean the power which the soul 
has of evolving through the eyes and through other 
bodily channels a certain something which is called 
magnetism, and which creates around one an aura 
or atmosphere, either attractive or repulsive. (For 
further particulars respecting it, see the chapter 
entitled " Presence and the Presence-Force.") * 

Now, the rule of Nature relative to the capabil- 
ities thus classified is, " Occupy till I come." It 
implies all that is meant by such specific directions 
as these : 

Make the most thou canst of each one of thy 
powers. Develop and improve thyself. 

Study, think, investigate, learn. Remember, how- 
ever, that " it is not the knowledge stored up as in- 
tellectual fat which is of value, but that which is 
turned into intellectual muscle." 

Out of dull and selfish seclusion go forth. 

Regulate with care thy basal endowments. 

Prove thy strength, and render it sure. 

which I am sure I never should have reached in the use of my 
logical intellectual faculties alone. The answer comes through 
the intellect, and yet, but for that spiritual direction and quickening 
given it, the result would not be attained. There is a pre-science 
which goes before science, and blazes out the way for science to 
follow." 

* There is ground, I think, to believe that great capabilities of 
the soul, not mentioned in tbe foregoing classification, are yet to 
be defined and catalogued by psychological inquirers. The truth 
is slowly dawning on the explorers of man's nature, that the soul, 
in union with its invisible inner form, is the source of the life of 
the body, including all tissue-weaving and other vital processes. 
It is reasonable, therefore, to infer that the time will come when 
there will be enrolled in the list of the soul's powers the capabil' 
ity of vitalization. 



118 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Deliver thy conceptions from narrowness, thy 
charity from scrimpness, thy purposes from small- 
ness. 

Refuse to live the faint life of the mere spectator 
or reader, of the sickly dreamer of dreams, or the 
fanciful seer of visions. 

Find not thy delight in luxury or ease, in hollow 
shows or frivolous pursuits. 

Deny thyself, and take up thy cross. 

Do and dare, love and suffer. 

So shalt thou build a character that will abide all 
the tests which future years or ages may bring. 



XII. 

THE ENDLESS IMPROVABILITY OF THE SOUL. 

"It is for God and for Omnipotency to do mighty things in a 
moment ; but degreeingly to grow to greatness is the course that 
He hath left for man." Owen Feltham, a. d. 1650. 

"Truth ... is not progressive; though finite beings maybe 
forever progressive in acquiring truth." Horace Mann. 

To the conscious human self there belong possi- 
bilities of such moment, that no one can well study 
them without being either thrillingly impressed or 
made to experience unusual emotions. Some of its 
powers — I mean those to which are referable the 
leading kinds of mental activity — were obviously 
designed for an ever-continuing education. Let 
them be once roused, and (to quote the language of 
a scientist) " their development has no assignable 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 119 

limit." The conclusion is, therefore, unavoidable, 
that every soul can become great. By processes of 
culture to which it is able to subject itself, it can 
perpetually increase in wisdom, in strength, and in 
nobleness ; it can endlessly stretch forward toward 
higher realizations and conditions. It is its innate 
and inalienable prerogative to approach, by a never- 
ceasing advancement, a state of dignity like that of 
its uncreated Maker. Indeed, Nichols, in his Archi- 
tecture of the Heavens, ventures to express the idea 
that man, by reason of the unlimited and unremit- 
ting growth of his faculties, may one day become as 
that Being who, from the battlements of His own 
royal abode, can see beneath His feet the mighty 
motions of the entire stellar creation, proceeding in 
unbroken harmony. 

In Jean Paul's quaint, rich romance, called Titan, 
occurs a delineation, the vague, mystical, immense 
meaning of which fits it to be suggestive of the 
ineffable greatness to which the soul is heir. He 
describes his hero, Albano, as having climbed to the 
top of a thick-limbed apple-tree, where, lingering in 
still thought, he poetically conceived the same tree 
to be expanded to gigantic proportions. To his 
imagination it appeared growing alone in the uni- 
verse, as if it were the tree of everlasting life, — its 
roots piercing far down into the abyss, the white-red 
clouds hanging as blossoms on its twigs, the moon 
pendent as fruit amid its foliage, the stars glistening 
like dew on its illuminated surface. And Albano, 
in that vast youthful vision, saw himself reposing in 
the tree's sublime and infinite summit, while by a 
storm that summit was swayed "out of Day into 



120 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Night, and out of Night into Day." Does not the 
description seem to have been intended to intimate 
the immeasurableness of the enlargement possible 
to the ever-improvable human soul ? 

The soul's chief capabilities may, for the sake of 
elucidation, be represented as so many different 
rooms within itself, each of which can be made to 
have a spaciousness equalled by no material ampli- 
tude ever yet ascertained, and each of which, so 
long as it is kept in the process of growth, is 
and will be susceptible of fresh furnishing. These 
apartments of the inner man are too wonderful to 
admit being depicted either by a writer's pen or by 
a painter's brush. Their most distinguishing char- 
acteristics can, at best, only be indicated. Who can 
tell how much knowledge can find place in them, or 
what volumes of feeling the} r can contain? Who 
can declare the magnitude of the grandest traits 
that, in them, can have freedom to thrive and bear 
fruit ? Who can estimate the length and the 
breadth, the height and the depth, of the loftiest 
inspirations or of the noblest joys that, in them, can 
be experienced? To give a full expression to the 
utmost intelligence, potency, amiability, purity, 
meritoriousness, and majesty that can reside in the 
capability-rooms of a human soul, would be equiva- 
lent to picturing the unimaginable or to portraying 
the infinite; and to do either the one or the other is 
impossible. We are accustomed, it is true, to speak 
of persons of ill-developed minds as having " limited 
capabilities." But, in employing such phraseology, 
we invariably talk in a relative, not in an absolute 
manner. No reasoning person exists, whose prin- 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 121 

cipal capabilities, how much soever they may seem 
to be doomed to smallness, are, in the sense of being 
positively confined to their present dimensions, cir- 
cumscribed or limited. They who have small fac- 
ulties which continue to be small, are persons who, 
by neglect or by misuse of their souls, stifle their 
mental energy and withhold themselves from mental 
growth. They habitually go their dull way, with a 
half-fed, lean, jejune thinking nature. Perhaps they 
have an inveterate shrinking toward contractedness 
and contemptibleness. Perhaps they have literally 
established their souls in a " pungent, acrid, awfully 
intensified, and talented littleness." Certainly they 
are entirely destitute of that passion for self-im- 
provement which led one of the Greek poets to 
say, — 

" I seek what's to be sought, 
I learn what's to be taught, 
I beg the rest of heaven." 

One may be sadly indifferent to the value of his 
soul's foremost capabilities, may inadequately exer- 
cise them, and may secure to them merely a dwarf- 
like compass ; but there is never a time when they 
cannot be made to transcend the limits of develop- 
ment to which they have attained. Their possessor 
can educate them forever. He can unceasingly add 
to their roominess and resource. In all time to come 
he can cause them to continue to exceed breadth 
after breadth. Are they small to-day ? He can 
render them large, and then larger, and then still 
larger. Oh, who can conceive how great his mental 
being is able to become ? Who can comprehend 
how elevated a life it is possible for him to live ? 



122 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Who can be liable to overrate the vastness of the 
destiny for which he Avas created ? The dullest of 
those who pass their days with earth-bound desires, 
having no cultivated hunger and no cherished thirst 
for anything divine, can become so developed in 
mind as to have admirable thoughts and to be famil- 
iar with exalted delights. " Honor all men," says 
one of the Christ-sent apostles. Even the unlettered 
peasant, whose costliest luxuries are bread and 
cheese, is entitled to receive honor. The conclusion 
that it is due him, rests on solid ground ; for it rests 
on the fact that he has a soul which is susceptible 
of a never-ending development — a soul which can 
be made to be as great as that of 

" The starry Galileo with his woes ; " 

or as that of Bacon, who " effectually taught the 
sublime art of creating sciences;" or as that of 
Shakespeare, whose genius was believed by Cole- 
ridge to be superhuman. He can progress intermi- 
nably, from attainment to attainment, along a course 
of self-training in which activity will become ever 
more and more facile and free, and in which experi- 
ence will ever increase in blissful sweetness. The 
intellectual character possessed by Sir Isaac Newton 
might seem unsurpassable. But there is no undis- 
tinguished rational being, toiling and scrambling on 
the monotonous level of commonplace life, whose 
more important capabilities cannot be so educated 
as to give him, at some period of that duration 
through which his existence is to run, an intellectual 
character even greater than that which was the 
source of Newton's glory and grandeur. 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 123 

It is interesting to observe in what various ways 
meditative scholars have made references to the 
mental possibilities. Hughes, one of the contribu- 
tors to The Spectator, says : " Our case is like that 
of a traveler on the Alps, who should fancy that the 
top of the next hill must end his journey because 
it terminates his prospect ; but he no sooner arrives 
at it than he sees new ground and other hills beyond 
it, and continues to travel on as before." Addison, 
using words applicable to every person who is heed- 
less of those possibilities, says : 

" Thou talk'st like one who never felt 
The impatient throbs and longings of a soul 
That pants and reaches after distant good." 

Horace Mann remarks : " No natural impediment 
forbids our turning what is now divine knowledge 
into human knowledge. We may ascend Pisgahs 
after Pisgahs, and enter Canaans after Canaans, yet 
forever see before us new Pisgahs to be ascended, 
and Canaans flowing with the milk and honey of a 
diviner wisdom, to be made our own." Carlyle 
represents great men as " prophetic tokens of what 
may still be," and declares that he who does not see 
or rationally conceive, and with his whole heart pas- 
sionately love and reverence, their greatness, cannot 
but be little. And, says Victor Hugo, " There are 
in the world men — are they men ? — who distinctly 
perceive on the horizon of dreamland the heights of 
the Absolute, and have the terrible vision of the 
mountain of the Infinite. These are men of genius 
— the Swedenborgs, the Pascals." 

It would be passing strange if there were to be 



124 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

found in the Scriptures no unmistakable allusions to 
the more wondrous results which are attainable to a 
soul bent on making the most of itself. But the 
truth is, they contain hint after hint at such results ; 
and hints they are which are always striking, and 
sometimes startling. Consider a few examples. On 
the page where reference is made to Enoch, with 
what a mysterious yet suggestive brevity, as if 
there had been exemplified in the case a greatness 
too divine for words, is there mentioned a transcend- 
ent excellence, as having marked that primitive 
saint, and as having rendered him fit even to be 
carried to heaven without seeing death ! Further 
on, how one is left pondering with amazement over 
that representation concerning Moses, in which he is 
described as coming down from the place of his soli- 
tary intercourse with Deity, having such a bright- 
ness in his countenance that it was necessary for him 
to put a veil thereon, in order that he might be 
able to talk again with men ! According to Cony- 
beare and Howson, the averment of David, quoted 
by Saint Paul from the eighth Psalm, and usually 
given in the words, " For thou hast made him a 
little lower than the angels," should stand thus : 
" For a little while Thou hast made him lower than 
the angels." And if this translation is correct, then 
how strongly does that Davidian declaration suggest 
an inconceivable unfoldment of mental capabilities, 
as in reserve for man when the " little while " of 
his earthly sojourn shall be ended ! Says Horace 
Bushnell : 

" Here they [the Scriptures] drive us out in the almost cold 
mathematical question, What shall it profit a man to gain the whole 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 125 

world and lose his own soul ? Here they show us, in John's 
vision, Moses and Elijah, as angels, suggesting our future classi- 
fication among angels, who are sometimes called chariots of God, 
to indicate their excelling strength and swiftness in careering 
through His empire to do His will. Here they speak of powers 
unimaginable as regards the volume of their personality, calling 
them dominions, principalities, powers, and appear to set us on a 
footing with these dim majesties. Here they notify us that it doth 
not yet appear what we shall be. Here they call us sons of God. 
Here they bolt upon us, ' But I said ye are gods,' — as if meaning 
to waken us by a shock! In these and all ways possible, they 
contrive to start some better conception in us of ourselves, and 
of the immense significance of the soul; forbidding us always to 
be the dull mediocrities [mediocres] into which, under the stupor 
of our unbelief, we are commonly so ready to subside." 

The neglect and the abuse of capabilities of the 
soul, which can be endlessly developed and trained, 
constitute an explanation of what may be called the 
Christ-sorrow for the world. This was that holy 
consuming grief which, propagating from the great- 
est of all man-saviors, repeated itself in the evan- 
gelists and the apostles, and especially in him who, 
traversing the lands of the Gentiles, proclaimed to 
remote nations the possible expansions and exalta- 
tions of human nature. They, and the old Hebrew 
patriarchs and prophets before them, and Confucius, 
and Zoroaster, and Socrates, and Ochino of Siena, 
and Luther, and Knox, and Fenelon, and John 
Howard, and Wesley, and Whitefield, and Living- 
stone, illustrated the meaning of Mrs. Browning's 

words, — 

" Who, 
Being man and human, can stand calmly by 
And view these things, and never tease his soul 
Eor some great cure ? " 

The thought of the soul's endless improvability is 



126 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

well adapted to quicken torpid virtue and to revive 
drooping aspiration. It tends to scatter the gloom 
resulting from disappointed endeavor. Let it but 
have a star-like clearness in the mind, and there 
will spring from it an ever-new interest in life and 
being. We know that the paths of usefulness and 
affection must sometimes be strewn with smitten 
leaves and faded bloom, and that the heart must 
sometimes be chilled by harsh changes, even as the 
face of nature is chilled by rude winds. We know 
that we are doomed to find thorns in roses, and to 
suffer from "thorns in the flesh." W^ know that 
there are for us hours when the sunshine without 
must be darkened by shadows within ; when we 
must be pierced by trials ; when we must be hum- 
bled by afflictions. Yet, so we but duly ken our 
mental possibilities, how much there is to animate 
us and to make us hopeful ! Well may we go our 
way, with a high ambition and with good cheer ! 
Well may we prize, as a stage of action, this old 
stone-ribbed earth, whereon we can behold the 
beauty of emerald meadows and of blossoming plants, 
and can hear the songs of russet-bosomed robins and 
the prattle of children, the voice of the vernal 
breeze, and the sound of the summer rain ! Oh, who 
that ever muses on the soul's heirship to the divine 
can wish he had never been born ? I am grateful 
for my existence. I rejoice that I have place amid 
the bright-bordered mysteries which surround me. 
I glory in the shifting scenery of the seasons. No 
flaw do I find in the sun, the moon, or the stars. 
No prayer have I to make that the grass which 
grows at my feet may be fairer than it is, or that 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 127 

the mornings and the evenings may be more attrac- 
tive. Let me know as I may, and feel as I should, 
the truth that I am endlessly improvable, and I am 
assured that the Soul of the universe will somehow 
sweeten every bitter allotment that falls to me, 
will " charm my pained steps over the burning 
marl," which belongs to the course of probationary 
experience, and will assist me joyfully to approxi- 
mate the greatness of His own infinite and tranquil 
character. 



XIII. 

THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 

" A man may, for twenty years, believe the immortality of the 
soul, — in the one-and-twentieth, in some great moment, he for 
the first time discovers with amazement the rich meaning of this 
belief, and the warmth of this naphtha-well." Jean Paul. 

The soul is an ever-enduring entity. Unlike 
the clouds and the snow-heaps, the fluids and the 
liquids, the rocks and the metals, — unlike all the 
generations of living organisms, — it neither wastes 
away nor loses its distinctiveness. Nay (for all that 
nature teaches to the contrary), it outlasts every 
possible transmuting process, and, as a self-identify- 
ing self, is endlessly living. 

It is true that, respecting this point, men have in 
no age of the world been universally like-minded. 
Job, that great Oriental Gentile, so confidently be- 
lieved in the deathlessness of the thinking substance, 
that he could say he knew, though after his skin 



128 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

worms should destroy his body, he should, without 
his flesh, see God.* But Epicurus, Lucretius, and 
some other ancient authors, maintained that the soul 
follows the fortunes of the body, declining when it 
declines, dying when it dies. Said true-hearted 
Samuel Johnson to one who had propounded to him 
the question, " Have we not evidence enough of the 
soul's immortality?" "I wish for more;" Some, 
giving place to a frigid, keen-edged sort of pantheis- 
tic contempt for the very idea of an eternal continu- 
ance of human personality, use words like those 
icicles of speech attributed by Werner, in his Sons 
of the Valley, to Robert d'Hereclon : 

" This shallow self of ours, 
We are not nailed to it eternally. 
We can, we must be free of it, and then 
"[Incumbered wanton in the Force of All." 

Some refuse to believe the soul to be immortal, by 
reason of having acquired such a character as makes 
them dread a future existence. They have quite 
unfitted themselves to wish for anything better than 
annihilation — that which " it is the most abject 
thing in the world to wish ; " and their wish for it is 
father to their deduction of the certainty of it. The 
truth is, there are to-day, and there have ever, been 
in past ages, a scale of degrees relative to faith in 
the soul's immortality, and a scale of degrees rela- 
tive to unfaith therein ; and there are to-day, and 
there have ever been in past ages, representatives of 
every degree of each. They who say, " I am fully 

* Job xix. 26. [According to the best critics, the words ren- 
dered in the ordinary Bible "in my flesh," should read "with- 
out my flesh."] 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 129 

persuaded that the soul is immortal," are at one end 
of the former scale ; and at the other end of it are 
persons who say, " I believe the soul is immortal, 
yet often need help for my unbelief." But they 
who, after the manner of Huxley and such as he, 
say, " I am not satisfied with the evidence that is 
offered me in behalf of the soul's immortality," are 
at one end of the latter scale ; and at the other end 
of it are persons who, on account of their depravity 
and wretchedness, hate the words " endless life," 
and love the words "extinction of being," — per- 
sons whose heart-cries are like the cries which Cole- 
ridge ascribes to restless Cain : 

' ; The mighty One that persecuteth me is on this side and on that ; 
he pursueth my soul like the wind, like the sand-blast he passeth 
through me ; lie is around me even as the air ! O that I might 
be utterly no more ! I desire to die — yea, the things that never had 
life, neither move they upon the earth — behold! they seem pre- 
cious to mine eyes. O that a man might live -without the breath 
of his nostrils. So I might abide in darkness and blackness, and 
an empty space ! Yea, I would lie down, I would not rise, neither 
would I stir my limbs till I became as the rock in the den of the 
lion, on which the young lion resteth his head whilst he sleepeth. 
For the torrent that roareth far off hath a voice, and the clouds in 
heaven look terribly on me ; the mighty One who is against me 
speaketh in the wind of the cedar grove ; and in silence am I 
dried up." 

Now, be it observed that the lack of universal 
like-mindedness concerning the question of the soul's 
immortality, has never tended and never can tend, 
in the least, to determine how that question should 
be decided. Education, association, or experience, 
can produce either a strong bias in favor of the 
affirmative of it, or a strong bias in favor of the 
negative. Faith in immortality may become, by 
9 



130 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

culture, so strong as to enable one to speak of an 
after-life, as did the dying Lady Hastings, who said, 
" O the greatness of the glory that is revealed to 
me ! " and unfaith in immortality may become by 
culture so persistent as to make it easy for one to 
express, as did Harriet Martineau, a readiness to 
accept annihilation. What, then, should be allowed 
by a deliberate reasoner to settle for him the inquiry 
whether the soul is or is not a deathless entity? 
Surely this — -the preponderance of evidence. And 
on which side has always been the preponderance of 
evidence ? Unquestionably it has always been on 
the affirmative. Hence, in sixty centuries agone, 
dark though many of them were, the belief in im- 
mortality survived all the doubters and all the 
deniers of it. 

The preponderance of evidence on the affirmative, 
is what qualified Job virtually to say he knew his con- 
scious self was immortal. What made Pherecydes 
of Scyros such a believer in immortality that he went 
lecturing in behalf of the doctrine in Greece ? What 
brought Epicharmus to maintain that " man, dying, 
returns from whence he came, his earthy part to 
the earth, his spirit upward"? "Is it not strange," 
said Socrates to his friends, " after all that I have 
said to convince you that I am going to the society 
of the happy, that Crito still thinks this body, which 
will soon be a lifeless corpse, to be Socrates ? Let 
him dispose of my body as he pleases ; but let him 
not at its interment mourn over it as if it were 
Socrates." Said the elder Cyrus to his children, 
u For my own part, I never could think that the 
soul while in a mortal body lives, but when departed 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 131 

out of it dies ; or that its consciousness is lost when 
it is discharged out of an unconscious habitation." 
How did it come to pass that that Greek philosopher 
could thus speak ? — how that that Persian con- 
queror and ruler could thus discourse ? Here is the 
answer : the preponderance of evidence on the 
affirmative. Sir John Davies could sing : 

" The soul, though made in time, survives for aye, 
And, though it hath beginning, sees no end." 

And Wordsworth could sing : 

" We will grieve not, rather find 
Strength in what remains behind, 
In the primal sympathy, 
Which, having been, must ever be ; 
In the soothing thoughts that spring 
Out of human suffering ; 
In the faith that looks through death." 

And the reason why was this : the preponderance 
of evidence on the affirmative. 

I will set forth some arguments for the soul's im- 
mortalit} T . And, first in the list shall be presented 
that one, the force of which must have been repeat- 
edly felt by all who have given adequate scope for 
the exercise of the vernunft or higher reason. I 
mean the intuition, or rather the intuitive foresight, 
of a life after death. Cicero alludes to it in the 
passage : 

" There is, I know not how, in minds a certain presage, as it 
were, of a future existence ; and this takes the deepest root and 
is most discoverable {in maximis ingeniis altissimisque animis) 
in the greatest geniuses and the most exalted souls." 

The eminent Muretus of France, " for whose 



182 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

equal as a Latin orator, we must [so says Sir Wil 
Ham Hamilton] ascend to Cicero himself," adduces 
this general intuitive foresight of a life to come, as 
a strong and weighty evidence of the soul's immor- 
tality. In our clearer moods, if we look futureward 
and contemplate death, we naturally think ourselves 
to be ever-enduring, endlessly-living. Let one say 
to his own mind, " I am destined to outlive my 
body," and his mind, if it be unclogged and unre- 
strained, will intuitively ratify the affirmation. It 
will not be able to do otherwise. Now, this sponta- 
neous, irresistible ratification by the mind, of the 
affirmation of a future existence, is to be taken as a 
natural testimony in behalf of the certainty of im- 
mortality. For what is an intuitive mental act but 
a prompt telling by the mental substance, of some 
truth or some fact appertaining either to itself or to 
something else ? In one point, intuitions and in- 
stinctive actions are alike, — the}^ both have refer- 
ence to certainties which are present or prospective. 
There is an instinctive effort for life-preservation, 
and it is correlative to a life made to be preserved ; 
there is an intuition of a future existence, and it is 
correlative to immortality. 

The intuitive foresight or presage of a life to 
come is intimately connected with some great human 
feelings. It helps largely to explain that disposi- 
tion which leads the thoughtful mourner to visit the 
grave of his departed relative or friend, and there 
" lift his yearnings from the dust," and look heaven- 
ward, and with an expectant fondness muse on a 
coming time of reunion. It helps largely, also, to 
explain why man desires, as he does, the perpetua- 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 133 

tion of his name. He longs for reputation, perhaps 
for fame. He feels that 

" 'Tis sweet to be remembered," 

and, in the keeping of cherished fellow-beings, 
thoughtfully deposits mementos of himself. Such 
things as distinguishing wreaths and honorary badges, 
medals and titles, memorial tablets and monumental 
structures, are, in his idea, worth years of costly vy- 
ing. How he strives that he may leave behind him 
something — it may be a book, it may be an inven- 
tion, it may be a model of fine art, it may be a great 
estate — that shall commemorate him ! And the 
explanation of all this is, that he has an intuition of 
a life after death, together with a love of the appro- 
bation of beings of his own kind, and the one inten- 
sifies the other. 

I present next the argument for immortality, 
which consists in the unlikelihood of the soul's de- 
struction or annihilation. Substances that we know 
to be material undergo striking alterations, which 
result in the decomposition of their parts and the 
dispersion of their atoms. In no instance, however, 
are their atoms, so far as we can see, destroyed or 
annihilated ; hence, it may be concluded that these 
have a natural persistence which will eternally pre- 
vent their being destroyed or annihilated. Now, 
the soul does not appear to be subject to any decom- 
posing or dispersing alterations whatever. Indeed, 
it does not appear to be by any means divisible. 
Therefore, there is much less reason to suspect de- 
struction or annihilation to be the destiny of the 
soul, than there is to suspect it to be the destiny of 



134 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

matter. But it may be claimed that, in this course 
of reasoning, too much is inferred, since there is 
inferred the natural indestructibility of matter — a 
position which is untenable. For, was not matter 
produced by a miraculous exertion of omnipotent 
power? and does it not owe the continuity of its 
existence to the unremitting exertion of that power? 
Let us suppose it to have been thus produced and to 
be thus continued in existence ; what follows ? Cer- 
tainly it does not follow that matter, because it is 
not naturally indestructible, is doomed to extinction. 
If a miracle had to be wrought to bring matter into 
existence, a miracle will be necessary to obliterate 
it ; and there is nothing whatever, in the course of 
things, to show that a miracle will ever be performed 
for that purpose. And if it is unlikely that matter 
will ever be destroyed or annihilated by a miracu- 
lous exertion of omnipotent power, much more un- 
likely is it that the soul, which is ineffably superior 
to all that is known to be material, will ever be thus 
destroyed or annihilated. 

It is an irrefutable argument for immortality, that 
the soul is inimitably improvable; for this is a fact 
which is perennially suggestive of endless life. Man 
shrinks from believing that a thing which can so 
surely advance without limit under culturing pro- 
cesses, should, after a short series of fleeting years, 
be obliged to sink down in the waters of oblivious 
death. Why was the soul so wondrously endowed, 
if made to live only for so little a while ? Why 
were such valuable, such ever-improvable faculties 
implanted in it, if it were to have no adequate time 
for developing and training them ? " How can it," 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 135 

inquires Addison, " enter into the thoughts of man, 
that the soul, which is capable of such immense 
perfections and of receiving new improvements to 
all eternity, should fall awa}^ into nothing almost as 
soon as it is created ? " There occurs in the writings 
of Cicero an imaginary dialogue, in which he as- 
cribes to the elder Cato these impressive words : 

"This is my firm persuasion, that since the human soul exerts 
itself with so great activity ; since it has such a remembrance of 
the past, such a concern for the future ; since it is enriched with 
so many arts, sciences, and discoveries, it is impossible that the 
being which contains all these should not be immortal." 

I go on to name an argument or two further. 

In the present course of things, vice is punished 
and virtue is rewarded ; but the punishing and the 
rewarding are not perfectly adjusted to human de- 
serts. Vice is often highly favored, and virtue is 
often sorely vilified and persecuted. Hence, men 
naturally come to think that (as Plato says) " vices, 
when they escape the discovery and cognizance of 
human justice, are still within the reach of the 
divine, which will pursue them even after the death 
of the guilty;" and that virtues which suffer the 
pains of calumniation and revilement on earth, shall 
fail not of a great hereafter of divine recompense. 

Again ; there are deaths, there are dreams, there 
are cataleptic trances, and there are magnetic trans- 
ports, which furnish one common argument for im- 
mortality ; and it is the argument which consists in 
an extraordinary inner lucidness, or, in other words, 
a preternatural mental illumination, prevailing more 
and more as the influence of the body on the soul 
diminishes. Not unregarded, in any historic period, 



136 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

have been the different orders of instances wherein 
this argument has been from primeval years illus- 
trated. Shakespeare has the lines : 

" They say, the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony." 

" It is observed," remarks Sir Thomas Browne, 
" that men sometimes, upon the hour of their de- 
parture, do speak and reason above themselves ; for 
then the soul, beginning to be freed from the liga- 
ments of the body, begins to reason like herself, and 
to discourse in a strain above mortality." And says 
Victor Hugo, " There is a dilatation peculiar to the 
viciuity of the tomb ; and to be near death, makes 
a man see correctly." 

Who has never, at a time of dreamful sleep, found 
himself speaking, reading, reasoning, calculating, or 
perhaps inventing, with a transcendent ease and a 
masterly directness, which it was astonishing to con- 
template? What is to be said of the wonderful 
inner lucidness experienced at such times ? Shall 
we not say it shows what is " natural to the facul- 
ties of the mind, when they are disengaged from the 
body?" 

A man there was whose name was William Ten- 
nent. He was for three days thought to be dead. His 
neighbors had assembled to pay a final tribute of 
respect to his body. But just as the funeral was ready 
to begin, he awoke and looked out of his eyes again. 
Afterward he testified that, during those days, he 
saw and heard things unutterable. " I was trans- 
ported," said he, " with my own situation, viewing 
all my troubles ended, and my rest and glory begun, 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 137 

and was about to join the great and happy multi- 
tude, when one came to me, looked me full in the 
face, laid his hand upon my shoulder, and said, 
1 You must go back.' These words went through me. 
Nothing could have shocked me more. I cried out, 
' Lord, must I go back ? ' With this shock I opened 
my eyes in this world." Such was the trance, such 
the lucid vision-state, in which William Tennent, 
well known for many years as a Presbyterian min- 
ister, did once at New Brunswick, in the State of 
New Jersey, about the middle of the eighteenth 
century, pass three of the days of his lifetime. A 
man there was whose name was Emanuel Sweden- 
borg. He was a celebrated Swedish scholar and 
dignitary, the author of remarkable books and the 
founder of an abiding church. He was born at 
Stockholm, on the twenty-ninth day of January, 
1689. After graduating at the university of Upsal, 
he acquired distinction as a mineralogist, an anato- 
mist, a theologian, and a philosopher. When he was 
twenty-eight years old, he was made the chief mine 
assessor in the kingdom of Sweden ; and when he 
was thirty years old, he was advanced to the rank 
of a Swedish nobleman. According to the testi- 
mony of Count von Hopken, who knew him to the 
heart, he was uniformly virtuous, was free from fret- 
fulness, was diligent, was frugal without sorclidness, 
was gifted with a most happy genius, was fitted to 
shine in whatever scientific pursuit he chose to apply 
himself, was sound in judgment, and was, withal, 
one who " saw everything clearly, and expressed 
himself well on every subject." In 1743 he became 
the subject of an inner lucidness which was sur- 



138 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

passingly extraordinary. He himself ascribed it to 
an opening of his spiritual sight. It occurred on 
his part at frequent intervals, during a score and 
seven years. It is reasonable to believe that it was 
some exalted state of magnetic ecstasy. By him, 
however, it was adjudged to be far superior to any 
experience of that kind. Sometimes it made his 
eyes shine like bright flames. In the moments of 
his exalted inner lucidness, he could certainly see 
with a preternatural vision in earthly directions ; for 
he was able at one time, when in Gottenburg, to 
disclose the particulars of a conflagration in Stock- 
holm, even two days before the news of the burning 
was brought by the post. According to his own 
continual professions, his state of illumination was 
such that it qualified him to perceive the " spiritual 
world." In a letter, written near the close of his 
life to the Duke of Hesse, he solemnly declared that 
it had been granted him continually, for twenty- 
seven years, " to see the heavens and many of their 
wonders, and also the hells, and to speak with angels 
and spirits." 

Now, soul-illumination or inner lucidness, when it 
is of any one of the high and notable species that 
have been mentioned, can be accounted for on no 
superficial hypothesis. Call it an abnormal phenom- 
enon of no practical importance, and you have still 
to explain why it is at all times so wonderful, and 
why, forsooth, it is sometimes so amazing. Say 
that it is the effect of some curious freak of human 
nature, and you have still to grapple with the fact 
that it is a state in which the very highest mental 
faculties are supremely engaged and concentrated. 



THE INESTIMABLE LNTEKIOK HERITAGE. 139 

It certainly signifies some great change in the rela- 
tionship between the inner man and the outer. It 
is evidently the result of a partial emancipation of 
the former from the latter ; and I do accordingly say 
it tends to prove that the soul is immortal. 

(For the Scriptural arguments relative to the ques- 
tion of a future existence, see the Scriptures them- 
selves.) 

Immortality is, on the whole, an amply-war- 
ranted belief. And it meaneth — what? Does it 
imply only this : That the soul is not to be annihi- 
lated ? Reader, think not so. The belief has great 
depths of significance. Look down into them ! It 
implies unending personal existence. Nay, more ; it 
implies unending personal identity. Nay, more ; it 
implies the eternal onward-rolling of a personal life- 
stream, to which every mental capability shall for- 
ever be a tributary, and wherein thoughts, feelings, 
and volitions shall forever merge. Immortality ! 
What a " rich meaning " there is in this belief ! 
what a warmth there is in " this naphtha- well ! " 



XIV. 

THE VALUE OF THE SOUL. 

" His nature no man can o'er-rate." 

Young. 

Few topics are more gravely important than that 

of the soul's value. It demands to be discussed 

thoughtfully and sedately, yet, so far as possible, 



140 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

strikingly and penetratingly. He who thus dis- 
cusses it will take care to avoid commonplace aver- 
ments and cold, crystalline generalities. He will not 
say the soul is a valuable entity ; for so to say would 
be to deal out a mere truism. He will not declare 
it to be a thing of superior worth ; for such a decla- 
ration, how great soever its import might be, would 
be too much lacking in concreteness, too little like 
words of the class that seem to be alive. There is 
a Scylla of trite teaching, and there is a Charybdis 
of cold, dry, abstract instruction ; and both these 
should be shunned forever. Reader, come thou with 
me ; I will specially endeavor to keep clear of each 
of them. 

In entering on a treatment of the topic before us, 
I at once raise the inquiry, What is the value of the 
soul ? It is an inquiry which can be positively but 
not definitely answered. Let investigation respect- 
ing it be adequately prosecuted, and it will inevita- 
bly result in the deep deduction that the soul is 
worth so much we can never, save approximately, 
ascertain how high an estimate it behooves us to 
set upon it. Condensing the same deduction into 
the fewest words possible, we have this aphorism : 
The value of the soul is so great as to be incalcula- 
ble. Now, to see the validity and to feel the force 
of the comprehensive statement here presented, my 
reader has need to view it as a thesis which is to be 
proved, and to consider the reasons or arguments 
that go to establish it. I will assist him in so doing. 

The value of the soul is so great as to be incalcu- 
lable. 

One argument for this proposition, is the immeas- 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR. HERITAGE. 141 

urable extent to which the value of the soul exceeds 
that of the body. In unfolding and elucidating it, 
the admirableness which belongs to man's living 
frame is, of course, to be unstintedly acknowledged. 
Surely, of all the goodly organic structures on earth, 
that frame is the most excellent. Spinoza did never 
more wisely speak than when he said, " This fabric of 
the human body exceeds infinitely any contrivance of 
human skill." Novalis pronounces it the form than 
which nothing is holier — the "Revelation in the 
flesh" to which reverence is done when men bend 
before men. Jean Paul alludes to it as " the greatest 
of all temples." Such are its parts and their inter- 
connections, such are the processes which go on in 
it from day to day, such is its life when it is awake, 
and such is its life when it is asleep, that, as long as 
it breathes, it silently tells an awe-inspiring story of 
a Power, independent of humanity, mysterious, im- 
perturbable, sublime, by which it was originated, and 
by which, acting concurrently with the human soul, 
its vital stream is driven along. That saying of the 
peerless psalmist of Israel, " I am fearfully and won- 
derfully made," might well be repeated by every 
man, as often as he turns his attention to the pul- 
sating house of his thinking self. At more than a 
myriad points, the body bears the unmistakable im- 
press of a Master-guide operating behind the pro- 
cesses of the organizing principle that inhabits it. 
How apparent is this on every part of the twinkling 
eye, and of the labyrinthine ear, and of the pliant 
hand with its sensitive finger-tips, and of the humble 
yet elaborate foot ! And, in the awful interior of 
the frame, how plainly the same impress abides on 



142 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

every division of the wondrously throbbing heart ! 
How vividly it is fixed on the strange walls of those 
lung-cells to which the dark, venous blood comes to 
be cleansed and brightened ! Ah, who would not, 
instead of being disposed to teach a person to de- 
spise his vitalized fabric, be disposed to teach him 
to regard it with a solemn interest, since it is digni- 
fied by so many marks significant of " a Some One " 
that designed it, and that, in cooperation with the 
human soul, made it to be what it is ? 

When, however, we bring the body into compari- 
son with the soul, we are obliged to deem it an ob- 
ject of inferior value. In that case, the representa- 
tion of the poet seems but just: 

" Our gross investiture of mortal weeds." 

What is it more than a vivified vehicle which nature 
has carefully provided for the soul, that the soul 
might therein travel to the end of its earthly jour- 
ney? It is subject to be scarred by sudden blows 
and to be maimed by accidental falls. It is a short- 
lived structure. Disease, that serpent-like foe to 
the " living dust," steals an attack on it, and in 
some one of its parts or organs plants a destroying 
venom ; and soon the corporeal glory passes away ; 
the rubicund color of the lips and the cheeks fades ; 
the eyes surrender their attractive luster; the 
limbs, once able and agile, exchange their strength 
for a hopeless impotence, and their adroitness for a 
pulseless immobility; and the form, that used to 
walk the earth erect and elastic, becomes a pros- 
trate, unexpressive, disenchanted object. When the 
soul leaves the body, life leaves it ; and when life has 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 143 

gone out of it, it is bereft of all its interesting sig- 
nificance, and is fitted for nothing but to collapse 
and dissolve, and become mingled with the common 
earth. 

Now, we are well assured that no such desolating 
changes are possible to the soul. This cannot be 
touched by any of the entities which have power to 
wound or to cripple the body. Human flesh can be 
pierced through with the sword or with the dagger; 
but no material blade can be brought into contact 
with the human self. Man's form can be perforated 
with the missiles of fire-lock weapons ; but no pro- 
jectile, whether of lead or of iron, whether driven 
by gunpowder force or by any other force, can be 
made to enter man's spirit. " Then only," says 
Epictetus, " are you [i. e., your soul] hurt when 
you think j^ourself so." And says Marcus Antoni- 
nus, " Things themselves cannot affect the mind ; 
for they have no entrance into it to turn and move 
it : it is the mind alone that turns and moves itself." 
The soul is not short-lived. What can cause it to 
disintegrate ? What can reduce it to the condition 
of scattered atoms? "When thou nearest," says 
Chrysostom, " of the death of the soul, imagine not 
that the soul becomes extinct." 

We say of our departed friends whose absence 
we lament with sighings of disconsolateness and 
with longings of affection, that they are dead. But 
it is a mode of expression which is but an instance 
of popular inexactitude in speech. Those friends 
themselves are not dead ; for the soul, in the sense 
of becoming like a clod of the valley or like a 
sepulchral ruin, cannot die. From the disease-worn 



144 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

and death-smitten body this escapes. Perhaps it 
does so with an exalted composure, the token of 
perfect triumph. Leaving the house which it has 
ceased to illuminate behind it, and, rising to the 
border of the " undiscovered country," it goes to 
its own place. 

Now, the body is held by all enlightened men to 
be unspeakably valuable. No one would delib- 
erately barter his corporeal inheritance for the opu- 
lence of merchant-princes or for the precious gems 
which glitter amid royal decorations. And if the 
soul is so far superior, in every respect, to the bodj^, 
the conclusion is unavoidable that the value of the 
soul immeasurably exceeds that of the body. And 
from this spontaneously springs the corollary that 
the value of the soul is so great as to be incalculable. 

Another argument for the proposition under dis- 
cussion is, the immeasurable extent to which the 
value of the soul exceeds that of all known matter 
external to human nature. In every case in which 
man's self is compared with the physical objects 
which exist outside of him, the former, by reason of 
the innate nobility and the potential grandeur that 
give it its preeminence, makes the latter seem poor. 
Let us glance at the striking differences between 
them. The most remarkable of those physical 
objects are of no higher inherent importance than 
such things as we are able to handle with our 
hands, to break in pieces with mallet or maul, or to 
weigh in the receiver of a balance. But who can 
lay hands on the soul ? Who can smite the soul 
into fragments ? Who can put the soul into a 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 145 

balance-basin, and determine its weight in pounds 
or ounces ? What is there in the fairest, the rarest, 
the sublimest material thing external to man, that, 
in dignity of essence and in improvableness of capa- 
bility, resembles the soul ? The beautiful flower 
with its welcome fragrance, the handsome tree with 
its graceful foliage, the flying wind with its won- 
derful elasticity, the refulgent sun with its splendid 
beams, the trembling star with its far-sent shimmer- 
ings — what do these things know ? what can they 
feel ? what can they do ? They are incapable of 
cognizing their own existence. They cannot choose 
what they will be or what they will have. Unen- 
dowed are they with power to see, or to hear, or to 
touch, or to taste, or to smell. They cannot in any 
way direct themselves. They cannot by any means 
free themselves from the tendencies which are in 
them. They are senseless, feelingless, knowledge- 
less. They are, save as they depend for improve- 
ment on some being superior to them, utterly un- 
susceptible of any change for the better. But, 
turning to the soul, we find that in each of the 
points here named it is amazingly unlike them. 
The soul can perceive by means of senses. The 
soul is self-conscious and self-directing. The soul is 
a substance that can think — that can choose — that 
can form purposes and accomplish them — that can 
manifest sympathy — that can hope and fear, laugh 
and sigh, rejoice and mourn. The soul can end- 
lessly improve itself. The soul can intentionally set 
in action causes, the effects of which will be felt in 
distant parts of the earth. The soul can evolve 
ideas that will tend to revolutionize communities or 
10 



146 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

to transform nations. The soul can make discov- 
eries in planetary spaces and stellar realms. The 
soul can worship Deity and anticipate eternity. 
Saj^s Pascal : 

" Man is but a reed, the feeblest in nature ; but he is a thinking 
reed. The entire universe need not arm itself to crush him. A 
vapor, a drop of water, suffices. But though the universe should 
crush him, man would still be nobler than that which slew him, 
because he would know that he was dying ; while of the advantage 
which the universe had over him, the universe would know 
nothing." 

Now, we are accustomed to regard the value of 
material things which are outside of us, as very 
great. We speak of the immense worth of precious 
metals and of precious stones. We imagine that 
we understand what a high estimate we should 
place on the air which we breathe, on the light 
which cheers our eyes, on the water which refreshes 
our lips, on the soil which lies deep and fertile 
around us, and on the nourishing products which 
spring therefrom. But if, in every case of compari- 
son between such things and the soul, there are to 
be discovered distinctions so surpassingly important 
in favor of the latter, then we must conclude that 
the value of the latter immeasurably exceeds that 
of the former. And this conclusion is fitted to give 
rise to the belief, that the value of the soul is so 
great as to be incalculable. 

One argument further for the same proposition 
remains to be considered. It is the argument that 
consists in the immeasurable extent to which the 
value of the conscious human self exceeds that of 



THE INESTIMABLE IKTEEIOR HERITAGE. 147 

the conscious self of the most knowing of the ver- 
tebrate beings on earth that are other than human. 
These all are representatives of a kind of soul 
which, save in point of improvability, is substan- 
tially similar to our own. " If I am not mistaken," 
saj^s Agassiz, " we can trace in all vertebrates men- 
tal powers akin to those of man." The creatures 
which are generally known by the term animals, 
evince sensation and perception, appetite and pro- 
pensity, desire and affection, memory and will, won- 
der and curiosity, caution and constructiveness, the 
power of imitation and the power of profiting by 
experience. They can anticipate pleasure and they 
can dread pain. They are capable of anger and 
hate, of trust and lo} r alty. The dog (so says an 
acute contributor to the Edinburgh Revieiv) some- 
times has a feeling of shame as distinct from fear, 
and sometimes a feeling very like modesty. A great 
dog, by its scorn for the snarling of a little dog, 
shows magnanimity. Dogs and horses give proof 
in their dreams that they have imagination. The 
chimpanzee cracks nuts with a stone, and thus ex- 
hibits some knowledge of tool-using. The dog, by 
its action in regard to its bone, and the bird, by its 
action in regard to its nest, indicate an idea of 
property. 

That the vertebrate beings under consideration 
are, in a degree, capable of reasoning, is an opinion 
which, from ancient times, has had able accepters 
and advocates. Chrysippus, a distinguished Greek 
philosopher, referring to the logical process whereby 
a dog determines which one of three ways to take, 
describes it thus : 



148 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

"I have traced my master to this place; he must of necessity 
have gone one of these three ways : he has not gone this way nor 
that; he must then infallibly have gone this other." 

Agassiz maintains that we cannot, without shut- 
ting our eyes to the plainest and most unmistakable 
facts, deny to the more elevated orders of brute- 
vertebrates "some degree of argumentative power." 
And he not only attributes to them this, but declares 
that "in their moral relations they give evidence of 
a natural sense of right and wrong, as keen, if not 
as susceptible of higher development, as that which 
we find in some men." 

From what has been advanced, it is to be inferred 
that the saying quoted by Bayle, Deus est anima 
brutorum ( u God is the soul of brutes,") * is untrue. 
The instinctive movings of brutes are, in all likeli- 
hood, actions to which God's energy spurs them ; 
but surely their conscious self, their soul, is an entity 
distinct from God. It is also to be inferred that the 
affirmation of Huxley, that " the only conclusion at 
which there seems to be any good ground for ar- 
riving is, that animals are machines, but that they 
are conscious machines," is to be regarded as hav- 
ing an insufficient foundation. Unsafe, certainly, for 
a general rule, is the conscious-machine deduction. 
There are numerous facts with which it appears to 
be totally irreconcilable. Plutarch relates of the 
elephant which King Porus rode in his battle with 
Alexander the Great, that this beast, when he found 
his master ready to sink under the darts which had 
entered his flesh, kneeled down in the softest man- 

* See Addison's Essay on Animal Instinct. {The Spectator, 
No. 121.) 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 149 

ner to prevent the pierced rider from falling off, and 
afterward, with his proboscis, gently drew every 
dart out of his master's body. Could a conscious 
machine have performed such acts ? 

The brute-vertebrates (to say what none will 
deny) have in their kind of soul something which 
makes them far superior by nature, both to inani- 
mate material forms and to living but impersonal 
physical organisms. The crystal is striking, but it 
knows nothing — it is stolid : therefore, in itself 
considered, it is a thing of lower order than the 
squirrel, that sagaciously gathers food in autumn 
whereon to subsist in winter. The flower is beauti- 
ful, but it is incapable of perception or of feeling, 
of recollection or of volition : therefore it is inferior 
by nature to the bird, which can see and choose, go 
and come — the bird which has a mental nature in 
union with its organized physical frame. Any vital- 
ized body that is stirred, and moved, and lighted up 
by the powers of a soul dwelling in it, as the eagle's 
soul dwells in the eagle's body, or as the horse's 
soul dwells in the horse's body, is to be regarded 
with an interest deeper than that which is due to a 
mountain or to a tree. For wherever there is such 
a thing with such another thing in it, there is in- 
trinsic superiority in the scale of being, there is 
natural ground for a surpassing valuation. 

But here let us turn to institute a comparison 
between the conscious self of the brute- vertebrate 
and that of man. I will suppose that some highly 
intelligent representative of beast-souls is made an 
object of study by the side of some highly intelli- 
gent representative of human souls. We contem- 



150 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

plate the perceptive power revealed by the one, and 
then the perceptive power revealed by the other. 
We compare the memory, the imagination, and the 
will evinced by the one, with the memory, the imag- 
ination, and the will evinced by the other. We 
notice the ingenuity displayed by the one, and then 
the ingenuity displayed by the other. We take into 
consideration the reasonings of the one, — those logi- 
cal processes which at best we find to be only slight, 
— and then we take into consideration the reason- 
ings of the other, — reasonings proceeding along 
some extended line of powerful thought and victori- 
ous combination. We prosecute the double study 
yet further. Indeed, we go on comparing till the 
comparison must end. And what then ? We have, 
as the result, a conviction fadelessly clear and abid- 
ingly strong ; and it is the conviction that the human 
soul, since it immeasurably exceeds in improvability 
the beast-soul, does also immeasurably exceed the 
same in value. Once in possession of this, the mind 
needs but a lightning-like moment, to pass from it 
to the more significant deduction, that the value of 
mart's soul is so great as to be incalculable. 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 151 

XV. 

THE NEEDLESSNESS OF STATIONARY MEDIOCRITY. 

" The soul is a kind of rough diamond which requires art, labor, 
and time to polish it. For want of which many a good natural 
genius is lost, or lies unfashioned like a jewel in the mine." 

The Spectator, No. 554. 

There has long been rife in the world the erro- 
neous notion, that some persons can afford to pass 
through life without any special efforts to educate 
themselves. This notion is a conclusion deduced 
from certain reasonings which have proceeded from 
false premises. The fact is well known that human 
beings are commonly regarded as divisible into the 
two classes — the gifted and the ungifted. Mis- 
takes ha,ve widely obtained, concerning the real dif- 
ferences existing between the classes thus designat- 
ed ; and it is to them the ill-founded opinion, already 
mentioned, can be traced. I propose here to offer 
a plea in behalf of the portion of mankind that 
bear the disparaging title of ungifted. It shall be 
my aim to show the indefensibleness of that low 
estimate of ordinary mental endowments wherein 
the same title had its origin. And I begin by affirm- 
ing that no human soul, in possession of the usual 
thinking faculties, has need to resign itself to a condi- 
tion of stationary mediocrity. This thesis is one that 
can be maintained by irrefutable proofs. The read- 
er's attention is solicited to the argumentative en- 
deavor now to be undertaken in support of it. 

What is it to be an incarnated human self, capa- 



152 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ble of perceiving, of comparing, of judging, of putting 
forth volitions, of conveying ideas, of realizing pur- 
poses ? I answer that it is to be an embodied intel- 
ligent entity, outvying in inherent importance all 
wealth that is merely earthly, and all glory that is 
wholly material. Men greatly err when they con- 
clude that the innermost substance of humanity, 
even though it be in its lowest stage of development, 
is of little worth or of trivial account. The least 
distinguished human soul is a marvelous creature. 
Would you call it ungifted ? Examine the manifes- 
tations which it makes of its hidden nature, and you 
shall find that it has priceless gifts'. Would you 
almost ascribe to it an inferiority like that of the 
soul of the brute ? Look downward from its innate 
rank, and notice the distance which yawns between 
its knowing power and that of the most intelligent 
specimen of brutehood ! Compare tKe claims to 
respect which mark the one with those which char- 
acterize the other! The former, not the latter, can 
think in the higher sense of thinking — can reason 
in the higher sense of reasoning — can improve in 
the higher sense of improving. The former, not the 
latter, can discover the existence of Deity — can 
pray and adore — can keep a Sabbath-day holy — 
can anticipate a life after death. 

The most ill-conditioned man, in any nation of 
the world, is, in spite of all that can be said to the 
contrary, a wonderfully significant living being. 
Survey him and read the evidences of his inherited 
preeminence ! Study the points appertaining to 
his nature, which from his birth-hour have entitled 
him to regard ! Up from the helplessness of infancy 



THE INESTIMABLE INTEEIOR HEEITAGE. 153 

lie has come to the strength of adult years. In 
youth, he sang and laughed, leaped and sported. 
As the clays of a maturer age passed, like bright 
pageants, by him, he had feelings which originated 
in deeper recesses of his soul. He was conscious of 
expectations which were clouded by disappoint- 
ments, and of joys which were skirted with sorrows. 
Having grown to be a man, he found himself able to 
hold counsel with his own faculties ; able to com- 
mune with beings of his own race in friendship ; 
able to exercise kindness and gratitude ; able to 
rejoice with those that rejoiced, and to weep with 
those that wept ; able to act the part of an honora- 
ble, God-fearing, patriotic, useful mortal. And, in 
the light of facts like these, how can such a one be 
deemed the possessor of unimportant capabilities? 
Is there not in him something which, in its essence, 
is akin to the mind of Socrates, the mind of Shakes- 
peare, and the mind of Newton ? Is there not in 
him something which, if estimated as " God in Naz- 
areth " estimated every such thing, would be de- 
clared to be worth more than all the opulence that 
shines in palaces and all the diamond emblems that 
glitter in imperial crowns ? 

Amid the bustle and the whirl of practical life, 
men are not apt to set a correct valuation on ordi- 
nary souls. They are slow to discern and to acknowl- 
edge the native consequence of that substance which 
is endowed with reflective faculties and intuitional 
power. Hence a strong prejudice has come to exist 
against the capabilities of a large proportion of the 
inhabitants of the world. There are those who are 
wont to point to the idle, the ignorant, the super- 



154 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

stitious, and the servile, and, with the confidence of 
a disdainful pride, to ask, " What right to any esti- 
mation whatever have such specimens of inferiority 
and wretchedness? " But to all who are inclined 
thus to express themselves, it may be said that, even 
the lowest, meanest, vilest members of the human 
race have something inexpressibly valuable in them. 
The drunkard, wallowing and soaking in the way- 
side gutter, has that in him which, intrinsically con- 
sidered, is of more worth than gold or precious 
stones. The condemned perpetrator of crime, who 
is awaiting the hour when he must be swung from 
the gallows, and the wrinkled, faded crone whom 
vice has blighted and misery has blunted, and whose 
home is some underground den or some gloomy, 
leaking hovel, within the city's bounds, — each of 
these has a soul ; and that soul, though it is in a 
deplorable state, consists in a kind of substance the 
importance of which exceeds that of the brightest 
stars in the heavens. There is a sense in which the 
uncouth tatterdemalion and the listless organ-grinder 
are owners of real w r ealth. They have human eyes, 
ears, and hands, together with a human memory, 
imagination, reasoning faculty, and conscience. By 
their eyes they have learned, at least, how to spell 
the words on a sign-post ; and this is more than any 
of the brute animals can do. By their ears, they 
have learned, at least, how to distinguish the articu- 
late sounds of a widely-spoken language ; and this 
is something no brute animal ever did. By their 
hands, they have become able to ply with success, 
at least, a dozen useful tools ; and this is to have 
gained a greater skill than any beast of the field or 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 155 

any fowl of the air ever exhibited. By their mem- 
ory, they have been enabled to store in their minds 
a myriad weighty facts and truths, and by their 
imagination to rear many a fair mental form, and by 
their reasoning faculty to calculate times and dis- 
tances, to estimate quantities and values, and to draw 
conclusions from compared propositions, and by their 
conscience to apprehend immutable moral distinc- 
tions, — all which are acts that are almost entirely 
outside the life-range of the most knowing brute 
creatures. And is it not clear that what these 
dependent, dreamy, ill-living human beings need, to 
break the hold which their beggarly environments 
have on them, and to raise them to the mental state 
and the physical level of honored members of soci- 
ety, is the development of their slighted capabili- 
ties ? They surely need, above all things, to educate 
themselves. 

The reason why some persons can wield no tool 
higher in rank than a wood-saw or a spade, an ax or 
a hoe, is not because they are not endowed to do it ; 
it is because the} 7 " have had no culture fitting them 
to do it. A similar explanation solves the riddle 
why so many college graduates, who are to-clay won- 
dering at the distinction acquired by persons that 
have, perhaps, never seen the inside of a college, 
are, notwithstanding all their fine scholarship, on 
the plane of mediocrity, and there seemingly con- 
tent with 

"The flat experience of the common man." 

Self-development ! this is the great method whereby 
to secure relief and rescue from slavish conditions. 



156 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

The devotees of dirt, the plodding peddlers, the 
lounging hostlers, the groveling vagrants — all can 
become admirable mortals. That which is adequate 
to make them such is an educative activity in the 
better regions of their being. There are thousands 
of persons who do never more than partly bestir 
themselves. In certain territories of their mental 
nature they are either almost or utterly inactive or 
dormant. Though they go, and come, and see, and 
hear, and speak, yet one can detect a species of con- 
tinual slumber, by looking into their expressionless 
eyes and by listening to their vacant talk. Their 
nature-soul is awake, but their spirit-soul is asleep. 
They are psychically astir, but are pneumatically 
motionless. What is that that will cure the torpor 
in which their nobler mental potency is now wrapt 
and bound ? What is that that will give them the 
use of their unused valuable capabilities? It is self- 
development. 

Wonderful, and glorious is the effect which follows 
when knowledge is received into some neglected 
province of the soul, and is there appropriated as 
nutriment. How it stimulates ! How it brings into 
action latent power of mind and of heart ! How it 
causes meanness to depart and majesty to take its 
place ! The beginning of human salvation, in the 
secular sense as well as in the religious, is the diges- 
tion of needful knowledge in the soul. That which 
can produce a complete reformation on the part of 
one who has become so degraded as to be an object 
of contemptuous pity even to the vicious ; that which 
can deliver the most unworthy man or woman on 
the whole earth, from the track of a shameful career, 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 157 

and from the liability to a dark and frightful end, is 
genial and salubrious knowledge, assimilated in re- 
gions of the conscious self, where precious capabilities 
have been lying torpid. 

No slavery, by whatever name it may be known, 
can long maintain its bondage-grip, under the salva- 
tory influence of the right kind of information, so 
turned to account as to result in self-development. 
Behold the case of the slave of superstition ! He 
has been nurtured amid scenes of barbaric idolatry. 
His dearest delight has been realized in paying 
homage to gods of wood or of stone, of earth or of 
metal. A good thing has seemed to him to have 
been done, when some infant has been flung into 
the throat of a rushing river, with a view to appeas- 
ing the wrath of a vengeful deity, or when all the 
attractions of social life have been exchanged for the 
dreary seclusion of an ascetic hermit, or when an 
erring mortal has pierced and mutilated his body by 
way of doing penance for his sins. But see how he 
starts toward a new condition of being, and how 
quickly the chains of his servitude fall from his 
soul, when truth, such as is suited to work an ex- 
pansion of his faculties, once becomes lodged in his 
rational nature ! Behold the case of the slave of 
vice ! An evil appetite has been his bane. Intem- 
perance has hatched in his frame and in his mind its 
brood of woes. He has been cast out of men. The 
good, when they look on him, are horror-stricken ; 
and the bad, when they pass by him, have a thrill 
of disgust. But see how he betakes himself toward 
that which is high and hoi} 7 , and how he schools his 
feet to shun the path of abject life, when his con- 



158 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

scious self is once brought into a process of true 
growth by well-adapted instruction ! And again, 
behold the case of the slave who crouches in the 
presence of a human taskmaster ! Long has he 
borne on his back the marks of the lash, and long 
has he shown in his countenance the degree in 
which he has been unmanned under the cruelties of 
arbitrary domination. But see how soon the tenor 
of his way is changed, how he rises out of his low, 
cowering tameness, and how he prepares to ex- 
change the condition of a bondman for that of a 
freeman, when knowledge, fitted to be meat and 
drink to his dormant capabilities, once begins to 
result in their development ! 

Thus it is with all debasing bondages, whether 
they be physical, intellectual, social, or moral : their 
sure destroyer is suitable mental food, so assimilated 
as to give rise to mental stir and expansion. And 
this goes to prove that the education of a soul of 
very ordinary endowments is no wasted outlay of 
attention and foster-care. Be it ever remembered 
that all men, not excepting the least talented, are 
capable of high attainments. If a dumb animal can 
be trained to praiseworthy habits and performances, 
who will deny that the most unpromising human 
soul can form a character too excellent to be deemed 
poor, and too noble to be considered middling? It 
is certain that the very smallest degree of mental 
development is a benefit. Better is it to be slightly 
educated than to be stupidly ignorant ; better is it 
to be a half-scholar than to be a blundering ignora- 
mus. And, furthermore, it may be emphatically 
said that mental development, with a view to 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 159 

making the most of one's self, is just as much a duty, 
as to supply any damaging external deficiency is a 
duty. The person who is without eyesight, is excus- 
able for not being able to see ; but would he not be 
pronounced a drowsy drone if he should never seek 
to make compensation for his lack, by acquiring 
special aptitudes of touch and of hearing ? And, to 
apply the illustration, if a person finds he has not 
inherited any remarkable mental gifts, he will be 
blameworthy, provided he does not continually and 
manfully endeavor to supply the want, by cultivat- 
ing the unremarkable ones which he possesses. 

It is indisputable, not only that ordinary men 
have, by educating themselves, risen above medioc- 
rity, but also that such men, when educated, are 
generally highly useful and estimable actors in the 
world. The}^ are living proofs that education tends 
to make mortals, however commonplace they may 
be, admirable. In the age when Virgil wrote his 
poems, there were, all over Italy, men, not num- 
bered in the so-called gifted class, who were well- 
informed and well-cultivated ; and this fact is, un- 
questionably, the reason why his Gfeorgics proved to 
be, as they did, the means whereby the whole system 
of agriculture in that country was reconstructed. 
Numerous quiet farmers were, then, high-toned 
scholars. It seems to have been the custom of the 
mass of people to pay more regard to intellectual 
pleasures than to mere animal enjoyments. Obscure 
towns and remote rural districts were blessed with 
the steady presence of persons of superior intelli- 
gence and merit, who were, perhaps, entirely un- 
known to the heralds of historic fame. Men that 



160 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE . 

were doubtless regarded as ungifted had a trained 
sense of propriety, and a refined feeling as to per- 
sonal honor, which would not let them submit to 
incivilities from such as were publicly recognized 
as gifted. An evidence of the correctness of this 
statement may be found in the instance of Scipio 
Nasica, who, being a candidate for the office of an 
edile (a representative of a species of Roman magis- 
tral authority), took a plain countryman one day 
by the hand, and, finding it somewhat toil-hardened, 
accosted him with the rude question, " Prithee, 
friend, do you walk on your hands ? " The result 
was that the farmer, deeming that his dignity as a 
man and as a citizen had been infringed, made com- 
plaint to the people, and Scipio failed to secure the 
edileship. 



XVI. 

SELF-DISRESPECT, AND WHAT COMES OF IT. 

" It is rarely that men have respect and reverence enough for 
themselves." Qdtntilian. 

" There is nothing so handsome and lawful as well and duly to 
play the man; nor science so hard as well to know how to live 
this life; and of all the infirmities we have, 'tis the most savage to 
despise our being." 

Montaigne, Essays, Book III., Chap. XIII. 

The soul is liable to enter into states in which 
it will come to have a habit of rating itself low. 
Numerous, in all periods of history, have been they 
that were so modest as to have no faith in them- 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 161 

selves, and they that were so ashamed as to look 
with a continual derision on themselves. There are 
two kinds of self-disrespect. One of them is implied 
in that cringing diffidence which proceeds from the 
constant imputation to one's self of inferiority ; the 
other is implied in that remorse which is insepara- 
ble from the consciousness of guilt. These both, in 
all instances in which they are habitual, war sadly 
against the soul's well-being. They shall be dis- 
cussed in the order in which they have been men- 
tioned. 

Persons who are cringingly diffident are wont to 
receive but little esteem from others. Timothy Tit- 
comb calls them "shying people ; " and he declares 
that an individual of this class is sure to be shunned 
at last, and that he will well deserve his fate. In 
the sight of others we are usually what we are in 
our own sight. If one accounts himself a fool or a 
coward, others will speedily learn to account him 
likewise. Under-estimate yourself, and the inevita- 
ble consequence will be that those who are around 
you will under-estimate you. This is one of the les- 
sons illustrated by the ten Jewish spies, who, having 
accomplished their retreat from the land of Canaan, 
said to Moses : 

" And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak which come of 
the giants ; and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so 
we were in their sight." 

It is easy to tell what would have been the result, 
had Napoleon, while conducting his grenadiers over 
the bridge at Lodi, or had General Grant, while 
making the bloody march through the Virginia wil- 
derness, concluded that he was incompetent to com- 
11 



162 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

mand an army in a time of great peril. The staff- 
officers and the division leaders, together with the 
whole host of the rank and file, in either case, would 
very soon have arrived at the same conclusion, and 
have acted accordingly. See how it was with Alex- 
ander the Great ! He had set out to meet and to 
conquer the Persians and their king Darius ; and 
he had crossed the Hellespont, and had come to the 
Granicus. His subalterns raised the question whe- 
ther the latter stream could be safely crossed by his 
troops through the waters. Parmenio remonstrated 
against making the attempt. Alexander replied : 
" The Hellespont would blush if, after crossing it, I 
should be afraid of the Granicus." Then, dashing 
with thirteen brave horsemen into the river, he ad- 
vanced to encounter the enemy on its opposite bank. 
The rest of his army promptly followed him. Why 
should they not have done so? Is it not ever the 
truth, that when one is discovered to believe in his 
own ability to do a thing, others quickly learn to 
believe in it, too ? 

If one will be as an eagle or as a lion in his own 
sight, he will be as an eagle or as a lion in the sight 
of others ; and if one will be only as a grasshopper 
in his own sight, he should not be surprised to find 
himself to be only as a grasshopper in the sight of 
others. We are, to a great extent, responsible for 
the manner in which our fellow-mortals rate us ; for 
they are wont to adopt what they perceive to be our 
own manner of rating ourselves. If we feel that our 
nature is of goodly extraction, that we were made 
for no mean place among men, and that we cannot 
afford to sell at any price our birthright to fine in- 



THE ^ESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 163 

spirations and noble acquirements, then we will 
hardly fail to impress those whom we daily meet 
with a style and a force of character, which will 
cause them to take us to be just what we feel that 
we are, and to award us favor and honor. People 
cannot but have respect for one who respects him- 
self. Such a one will so influence others as to make 
their antipathies or prejudices toward him, if they 
have any, gradually dwindle, and finally fail. But 
if a person habitually adjudges himself to be weak 
and inferior, or incapacitated and worthless, he will 
be similarly adjudged by those who share in his 
society. 

Self-rating has much to do both with self-making 
and with self-unmaking. There results from it 
either an ardent desire of superiority or a settled 
servility of soul ; either the heroic unrest of one bent 
on realizing high possibilities, or the sickly content 
of a stagnating conservative. Become accustomed 
to respect 3 r ourself, and you will have fulfilled an 
important requisite to success ; become accustomed 
to disrespect yourself, and you will have got ready 
for miscarriage and defeat. Caleb and Joshua, Mil- 
tiades and Marius, and all the other great souls that 
have lived, grew to their greatness — how ? Cer- 
tainly not by counting themselves cheap, and aim- 
ing at low marks. Where is he that, in whatever 
circumstances his lot may be cast, is to prove " a 
slave by his own compulsion " ? Where is he that 
is to show himself a superficial time-server, always 
seeking to be numbered with some majority ? Where 
is he that is to be a dependent imitator, constantly 
devoted to the customary and the fashionable, and 



164 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

never daring to manufacture an opinion, or to insti- 
tute a mode for himself? And where is he that, out 
of all the contests in which he may choose to engage, 
is to emerge stigmatized as a cowardly capitulator, 
or satirized as one better qualified for flight or re- 
treat than for winning a victory ? Answer : they 
each belong to the class that have become used to 
setting a mean estimate on themselves. O fellow- 
soul, whosoever thou art, look not down on thy- 
self ! Up, and perceive what thou canst be ! Why 
shouldst thou consent to remain plebeian and dim ? 
I bid thee triumph over thy self-disrespect, and be- 
come fine and crystalline ! I bid even him who 
herds with the coarse and tough populace, to re- 
member that (as Ruskin teaches) street-mud con- 
tains clay which can become a sapphire, sand which 
can become an opal, soot which can become a dia- 
mond, and water which can become a star ; and that 
as with those rude ingredients, so with the souls of 
the street-crowd ! 

The other species of self-disrespect — that which 
is implied in the remorse inseparable from the con- 
sciousness of guilt — will now receive attention. 
This, be it understood, is entirely distinct from that 
dissatisfaction with self which is connected with 
penitential humiliation, with mournful regret for 
some mistake, omission, or failure, or with " despair 
for some public disgrace." Lucretia, when her vir- 
gin virtue had by force been violated, stabbed her- 
self, but not because she was remorseful. Apollonius 
Rhodius, when he had badly recited certain specimens 
of his poetry, banished himself from his country and 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 165 

his friends, but not because he was influenced by 
remorse. Sophocles, when one of his tragedies had 
been hissed off the stage, killed himself (so it is 
written), but not because remorse had taken posses- 
sion of him. Aristotle, when he found himself baf- 
fled in his attempts to explain the motion of the sea 
between Euboea and Bceotia, drowned himself (so it 
is recorded), but not because there was remorse in 
his heart. Would you know what painful self-dis- 
satisfaction one can have, without any feeling of 
remorse ? Read, then, the words of Marshal de 
Montluc. His son, whose virtuous character he 
admired, and for whom he had a deep and strong 
affection, had died on the island of Madeira ; and he 
was sorrow-stricken because he had not been famil- 
iar enough with that son, to let him know how he 
prized his excellence, and how he loved him. Said 
he: 

" The poor boy never saw in me other than a stern and disdain- 
ful countenance, and is gone in a belief that I neither knew how to 
lore nor to esteem him according to his desert. For whom did I 
reserve the discovery of that singular affection I had for him in my 
soul? Was it not he himself who ought to have had all the pleas- 
ure of it, and all the obligation? I forced and wracked myself to 
put on and maintain tins vain disguise, and have by that means 
deprived myself of the pleasure of his conversation, and, I doubt, 
in some measure, of his affection ; which could not but be very cold 
toward me, having never other from me than austerity ; nor felt 
other than a tyrannical manner of proceeding." * 

Certain it is, then, that a person can be ruefully 
self-dissatisfied, without being remorsefully self-dis- 
respectful. He who accuses himself in affectionate 
grief, has one feeling ; he who derides himself in 

* See Montaigne's Essays, Book II-. Chap. VIII. 



166 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

view of his deep-dyed and continuing turpitude, has 
quite another feeling. He who goes crestfallen with 
chagrin, has one sort of experience ; he who goes 
slinking with compunction as if he would flee from 
his own conscience, has quite another sort of expe- 
rience. There is a gnawing pain which unmans a 
man, as does nothing else. Only wrong-doers have 
it, and it obliges them to scorn themselves. Cain 
was made by it to take to fugacity and vagabondage. 
Charles the Ninth was made by it, when he died, to 
grin and gibber at his own horrible heart. Shakes- 
peare tells some thrilling episodes of Macbeth, who 
was so affected by it, that, thinking he saw at a ban- 
quet which he gave, the ghost of Banquo, whose 
murder he had procured, he exclaimed : 

" Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
Which thou dost glare with." 

Take, here, a glance at the case of Herod. He had 
been summoned to Rome to answer charges which 
had been presented to the imperial government 
against him. Before his departure, being passion- 
ately fond of his wife Mariamne, and intensely averse 
to the thought of her marrying in the event of his 
condemnation some one else, he constrained Joseph, 
the Jew whom he had appointed to direct public 
affairs in his absence, to promise under oath to kill 
Mariamne, if he himself should be sentenced to die. 
She, being informed of this by Joseph, became, as 
was but natural, incurably set against her base hus- 
band. He was acquitted. On his return, finding 
himself an object of scorn to her, and learning that 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 167 

she had been made acquainted with the promise 
exacted from Joseph, he put Joseph to death, and 
threw Alexandra, his wife's mother, into prison. 
Afterward, he contrived to have Mariamne arraigned, 
convicted, and executed. Then began in him a 
remorse such as few mortals have ever felt. He 
tried, by having recourse to dissipating indulgence, 
and to various acts of violence and cruelty, to drive 
her image from his soul ; but in vain were his efforts 
to effect its banishment. The remembrance of her 
beauty constantly harrowed and roused the foul 
depths of his nature. He often called aloud to her. 
At intervals, he flew away into solitude, as if he 
could prevail on lonely rocks and woods to relieve 
him of her memory. After returning from the haunts 
where he had unavailingly lingered in seclusion, his 
malignant spirit, more disturbed than ever by the 
consciousness of guilt, was wont to break forth in 
wild displays of bestial fierceness and of demon-like 
frenzy. It was as if the recording angel had said to 
him : 

" There are shades which will not vanish, 
There are thoughts thou canst not Danish ; 
By a power to thee unknown, 
Thou canst never be alone ; 
Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, 
Thou art gathered in a cloud ; 
And forever shalt thou dwell 
In the spirit of this spell." 

Take next a glance at the analogous yet more hor- 
rible case of the Roman emperor, Caligula.* Con- 
ceive him as moving amid the rich, brilliant, and 

* Some account of his career is given in the last chapter of this 
book. 



168 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

variegated scenes of a magnificent palace ; and imag- 
ine him as wearing smiles on his countenance, and 
as sending out echoes of laughter from his lips ! 
But what meanwhile was the experience within him ? 
Let the words of Suetonius be an answer : 

"But above all he was tormented with nervous irritation, by 
sleeplessness ; for he enjoyed not more than three hours of noc- 
turnal repose, nor even these in pure, untroubled rest, but agi- 
tated by phantasm ata of portentous augury; as, for example, on 
one occasion he fancied he saw the sea, under some definite im- 
personation, conversing with himself. Hence it was, and from 
this incapacity of sleeping, and from weariness of lying awake, 
that he had fallen into habits of ranging all the night long through 
the palace, sometimes throwing himself on a couch, sometimes 
wandering along the vast corridors, watching for the earliest dawn, 
and anxiously invoking its approach." 

In his Boston lectures, Joseph Cook speaks of a 
state of the soul in which it has to hear the laughter 
of itself at itself. "It results," he remarks, "from 
the very nature of things, that those who do that for 
which they cannot forgive themselves, never cease 
to hear the laughter of the soul at itself." That to 
which he refers, is what I mean by the self-disrespect 
of a guilty soul conscious of its guilt. 

Let us examine this matter to the core. 

The lesson is taught not only in the Scriptures but 
also in the every-day history of humanity, that the 
righteous rejoice, while the wicked are ashamed. 
The former, as they tread the course of life, are 
usually buoyant and songful ; the latter, as they 
travel the same course, are usually depressed in 
spirit, and destitute of musical gladness. However 
men may differ concerning doctrines and dogmas, 
they universally agree in the belief, that along with 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 169 

virtue and piety there goes a high and serene confi- 
dence, while their opposites, vice and irreligion, are 
accompanied by a disquieting and emasculating sense 
of condemnation. The wrong-doer, it is true, has 
seasons of delight. " Who ever saw," says Chrysos- 
tom, " a covetous man troubled in mind when he is 
telling of his money, an adulterer mourn with his 
mistress in his arms ? " Those creatures of vanity 
and deceit, waywardness and extravagance, who flit 
about now in silk and now again in satin, at one 
time in scarlet and at another time in velvet, and 
who worship not God but Fashion, have their emo- 
tions of pleasure and their thrills of glee. Lemnius 
does, indeed, aver that the guilty, even in their 
greatest delights, their singing, their dancing, and 
their dalliance, are " tortured in their souls ; " but 
the saying is applicable only to rare instances. 
Generally, the torture, the gnawing pain, the re- 
morse of such persons, is felt not in their delights, 
but after them. This point, however, is not the 
paramount one. The consideration of most moment 
is the fact that they are remorse-disturbed and 
ashamed. Wickedness invariably produces guilt, 
guilt gives rise to remorse, and remorse and shame 
go together, and are inimical to human welfare. 
These two last were originally so wedded as to make 
their divorcement impossible. The fittest emblem 
of a guilty soul seems to be a plant, which, by reason 
of having something corrosive at its roots, is un- 
thriving and limp-leaved. Who has ever trampled 
on the principles of purity and rectitude, without 
becoming the cowed and quailing object of his own 
derision ? Who has ever bowed himself again and 



170 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

again to the foul waters of sin, and lapped them up, 
without making self-disrespect a deplorable habit of 
his being ? 

There is no one who has not learned by experi- 
ence the nature of that scorn for one's self, that base 
shame, which has its more remote origin in will- 
ful transgression. Look back along the path of 
your past life, wherein you made so many footsteps 
which you have had to lament, and mark the time 
when you committed the sin that consists in telling 
a lie. What were the effects on yourself of that 
wrong act ? Were there not among them a sense 
of ill-desert, a cowardly uneasiness, and an intense 
self-loathing ? Did you not feel as if you had been 
suddenly let down to a despicable level ? To tell a 
lie is to render one's self the wretched recipient of 
his own withering reproaches. He who has ever got 
by any test-point in the course of his life, by dropping 
from his lips a big round falsehood or a little two- 
penny one, did doubtless, in the next hour, find his 
soul almost completely shorn of courage, and him- 
self ready to pocket insults with the utmost tame- 
ness and submission. Tell a real lie outright and 
designed^, and you will have a moral sickness that 
will be far worse than any possible gastric nausea. 
You will be disqualified for the maintenance of a 
manly bearing. Your best strength will desert you, 
and you will skulk in the broad daylight. Indeed, 
you will seem to yourself fit only to walk the earth, 
a slave of slaves and a keeper of swine. 

Now, from the unmanning shame which results 
from the guilt incurred by lying, one can form some 
idea of the degree of similar shame which springs 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 171 

from the guilt incurred by any sin of more atrocious 
character. He may even gather a sufficient basis 
of thought, to enable him to imagine that dreadful 
self-disrespect which must have existed on the part 
of Haman, and of Nero, and of Benedict Arnold. 
Think of Theodoric, that Gothic king, who, because 
he had murdered Symmachus and Boethius, was wont 
to shrink with terror from such a small sight as a 
fish-head ! Think of Richard the Third, who, be- 
cause he had established himself in the throne at the 
cost of staining his way thereto with the blood of 
several of his near kindred, felt ever a secret agony 
which told itself in his dreams ! All intelligent per- 
sons have read the story of him who was once num- 
bered with Christ's disciples, and who lost his disci- 
pleship by his iniquitous acts. It is well known how 
he surrendered himself to his lust for money, and 
how he let himself be hired to print a traitor's kiss 
on the most sacred face that had ever beamed on 
the world. And what was the full measure of his 
shame? What was the sum of his self-disrespect? 
Who can express it in words ? O think of him as 
fleeing from the haunts of men, and, with his soul 
rendered life-weary under its own mad derision 
toward itself, as seeking relief in suicide ! Should 
a person, at some still hour of the night, go stealth- 
ily to his neighbor's house and set fire to it, and 
immediately begin to retrace his steps — what then ? 
Though no unnatural darkness would enshroud his 
way, yet all things he would meet or pass would 
seem to him to look strangely dismal ; though the 
earth beneath his feet would show no discomposure, 
yet he would almost conceive it to be opening its 



172 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

long-shut jaws to swallow him up ; and though the 
rocks, standing out in his vista, would be as they 
had been, yet to his shame-stricken soul they would 
seem as if just ready to fly in pieces, and to shiver 
him to atoms with their scornful fragments. 

The gratification of wrong appetites, desires, or 
passions, results in an unmistakable let-down and 
impairment of the soul, whereof the soul itself can- 
not but be sufficiently aware to disrespect itself. 
He who continually incurs guilt has his hopes. One 
of them is, perhaps, the hope that there will be time 
enough for moral renewal and amendment in old 
age, or, at least, before the last sickness shall have 
finished its desolating work on the vital energies of 
the frame. Another, it may be, is the hope of anni- 
hilation. But what shall be said of hopes such as 
these ? Surely, they excite no ennobling emotions. 
They give no uplift to thought. They are associated 
with no beautiful ideals of future attainment. They 
are hopes that signify an inward degradation. The 
same person has his fears. But they lead toward 
nothing good. They are not of the kind that serve 
as motives to a wholesome change of action or of 
drift. They are followed by no repentant disposi- 
tion, no reformatorjr strife. They make the subject 
of them shrink, and grovel, and tremble, and quake. 
They cause him to turn with pallid face from every 
exhibition of divine majesty. They are unholy fears. 
They are remorseful fears. They are fears that sig- 
nify an inward degradation. That person has also 
(according to what is said on a previous page) his 
delights. While devoting himself to selfish ends, he 
finds a sort of gladness, and is doubtless often dis- 



THE INESTIMABLE INTERIOR HERITAGE. 173 

posed to say, " How sweet it is to go the way 
wherein carnal inclination can have its longed-for 
indulgence ! How sweet to spend the day or the 
night, without minding any nice questions about 
right and wrong, responsibility and destiny, eternity 
and God ! " But, admitting that he does experience 
delights, one may well ask how much are they really 
worth ? Are they fine and healthful felicities ? Do 
they truly refresh both the outer and the inner man ? 
These are questions which can be readily answered. 
Unquestionably, some of them are enjoyments which 
are genuine, rich, and productive of good results. 
But most of them are delusive pleasures, which en- 
courage evil proclivities. Most of them are pleas- 
ures that signify an inward degradation. And of the 
disrespect for one's self which goes with that degra- 
dation, what need is there to say more ? I add but 
this : He in whom it has become habitual, exempli- 
fies, in a sad sense, the meaning of the words of 
Seneca, In divitiis inopes, quod genus egestatis gravis- 
simum est, — " Poor in the midst of riches, which is 
the most insupportable kind of poverty." 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 



well for him whose will is strong ! 

He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; 

He suffers, but he will not suffer wrong : 

For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, 

Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, 
Who seems a promontory of rock, 

That, compassed round with turbulent sound, 
In middle ocean meets the surging shock, 

Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned." 

Tennyson. 

175 



Chapter III. 

THE IMPELLING CAPABILITY; OR, 
THE POWER OF PUSH. 



I. 

THAT WHENCE SPRINGS ALL TRUE PERSEVERANCE. 

" He appeared to aim at pushing away from him everything that 
did hang upon his individual will." 

Goethe, Wilhelm Meister, Book VI. 

"There is a Socratic courage which converts all Xanthippean 
shower-baths into refreshing rain ; there is a hero-mood that 
breaks the chains it finds too heavy to be borne." 

Miss Bremer. 

" O how I like those words, ' I can,' and ' I will ' ! " 
Dr. Edward Thomson, 
Essay entitled The Conflicts of Mind. 

A certain capability of the soul there is, without 
which human effort could in no case be heroic, and 
human life would in all cases be a failure. It is the 
capability that impels one onward, and holds him to 
his course, till his enlisted energies have gained the 
goal which is sometimes called triumph, but more 
often called success. Men refer to it when they use 
the words force of will, and also when they employ 
the compound term, will-power. They usually des- 
ignate it by the simple name, will. It is what bore 
12 177 



178 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

up and urged on the soul of Samuel Johnson, during 
the seven years' lonely toil which resulted in his 
monumental dictionary. It is what enabled Tous- 
saint L'Ouverture to have that practical invincible- 
ness which won for him the encomium, " This man 
makes an opening everywhere." There was a cel- 
ebrated English preacher of the last century, who 
quite strikingly exemplified it. I mean him who, 
when asked how he had patience to chide a block- 
head twenty times for profanity, answered that if he 
had done it but nineteen times he would have failed 
of his object. Its most noticeable effect is men- 
tioned by Shakespeare, in that place where he attrib- 
utes to one of his characters the words : 

" Perseverance, dear my lord, 
Keeps honor bright." 

Milton hints at the same, in the sinewy line : 

" Still bear up, and steer right onward." 

And Jean Paul alludes to it (or rather to what it is 
in the case of a certain typical style of manhood) 
when he says: "What often seems vengeance is 
merely the determined, soldier-like tread wherewith 
a man who can never flee and fear, but only knows 
how to advance and stand his ground, tramples 
down larks' eggs and ears of corn." That capa- 
bility is, forsooth, the hidden spur whereby is to be 
explained all noble continuity in exertion, all that 
unrelaxing persistence in pursuit, which is suggested 
by the phrase, pressing forward, or by the kindred 
phrase, pushing onward. Accordingly, there seems 
to be perfect propriety in terming it The Power of 



A PEETCELY POSSESSION. 179 

Push. By this title is expressed the entire sense of 
every other designation which has been employed to 
denote the capability ; and besides, it is much better 
fitted than any other to convey a vivid idea of what 
the capability practically effectuates. 

The Power of Push is, at bottom, identical with 
the will. Hence, in some degree of development, it 
is in every soul, and has a just claim to be included 
in the Great Fortune of Humanity. In cases 
wherein it is manifested as a prominent and distin- 
guishing characteristic, it is the will in a form or 
state in which it has an uncommon strength, con- 
stancy, and effectiveness. To illustrate the Power 
of Push, will, therefore, be to elucidate possibilities 
which appertain to the will. When I read in Hol- 
land's Kathrina the words, 

"Eor fiends of water, and earth, and fire, 
Are baffled and beaten by the ire 
Of a dauntless human will," 

I know that by "a dauntless human will " he meant 
just what I shall mean, if I shall anywhere on these 
pages speak of a dauntless poiver of push. 

Throughout the present chapter, the important 
capability here occupying attention is to be viewed 
almost solely in its relation to perseverance in effort, 
and the results thereof; but, in the last chapter, it 
will be examined in some other interesting relations. 
Moreover, throughout the present chapter, it is to 
be discussed in a manner spontaneous and free, and 
for the most part unmarked by any rigid conformity 
to method ; whereas, in the last one, it will receive 



180 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

a treatment involving a degree of systematism and 
a measure of particularity. 

In all ages, it has been a problem how to rise 
above the level of that in character or in perform- 
ance which is almost nothing, to the level of that 
which is decidedly something. Now, there is a plain 
rule for solving it, and it is this : The Power of Push 
must be so developed and trained, that, actiug with 
other educated and disciplined faculties, it will 
move the individual out of the company of the 
seeming ciphers of the world, and impel him on 
through difficulties and over obstacles, from one 
elevated and honorable goal of joyful realization to 
another. This capability may be described as the 
mental locomotive which enables one to ascend the 
rugged incline that leads to shining attainment. Its 
might differs from that of the railway locomotive, 
since the former is personal, while the latter is im- 
personal. As to mode of operation, also, there is a 
difference ; for in the one case, the might which 
produces the onward movement acts in the rear, in 
the other case it acts in front. In the one case it 
is a pushing force, in the other a tractive or drawing 
force. 

Immense is the meaning which lies wrapped up in 
the old proverb, " Where there's a will, there's a 
way." Why does progress ever take place in sci- 
ence or in art ? Why is business ever marked by a 
wholesome quickening or a splendid expansion? 
Here is the answer : Because there are souls that 
form fresh and broad purposes, and that, as soon as 
they have formed them, are moved by the Power of 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 181 

Push to accomplish them. Alexander the Great, 
had he not possessed an indomitable will, could 
never have conquered, in such manner as he did, 
the world ; for he could never, even if he had un- 
dertaken to gain that end, have persevered till he 
had reached it. What a will was that which pushed 
to success the genius of Themistocles ! One day, 
having discovered a number of brilliant bracelets and 
chains of gold glittering on some dead bodies cast 
up by the sea, he said to another, " Take these things 
for yourself, for you are not Themistocles ;" then, 
turning his face away from the rich ornaments, he 
went on to attain some higher height of fame. John 
Sebastian Bach, after he had risen to his enviable 
distinction as an organist, said: "I was industrious; 
whoever will be equally sedulous will be equally 
successful." But in these words he told only a 
part of the secret. Certainly, to succeed as he did, 
one must have an impelling capability equal to his 
in lasting vigor and brave tenacity. Thoreau says : 

"What a wedge, what a beetle, what a catapult, is an earnest 
man ! What can resist him ? " 

He doubtless meant by "an earnest man," a man 
who is in earnest, not merely in wish but in will. 
Such a one, be he whosoever he may, will prove to 
be, in a sense, irresistible. What could resist Na- 
poleon the First — what but Providence ? Vision- 
ary in any other man (remarks Bushnell) would 
have been his vast and daring plans ; but, " with 
him, every vision flew out of his brain a chariot of 
iron." Yea, and when it went forth therefrom, it 
went in the direction he had intended it should take, 



182 THE GKEAT SLIGHTED FOKTUNE. 

for it was moved by a will which was a kind of 
magnificent driving engine. 

"'I cannot do it,' " says Hawes, " never accom- 
plished anything ; ' I will try ' has wrought won- 
ders." Let not honor, in cases of triumphant 
genius, be paid to genius alone. Let it also be paid 
to the Power of Push, that without which genius 
could scarcely do more than perform spasmodic and 
extravagant efforts. " The man," says William 
Arthur, " who has genius without perseverance, 
may run the career of a rocket, but can never be a 
star ; .... he that has genius and perseverance 
will be the sun of his own system." The truth is, 
genius, unless steadied and impelled by a well- 
trained will, is wayward, fickle, and wild. Jean 
Paul, speaking of the love which genius gives, rep- 
resents it as " that alternation of flying heat and 
flying cold, that fire which, like the electric, always 
twice destroys — in the stroke and in the rebound." 
There have surely been numerous instances that 
have afforded some ground for such a representation. 
Genius, when it is in love, seems to be unregulated 
by the will, just as thought, in time of dreaming, is 
unregulated thereby. Gilfillan, pointing out the 
extent to which they who have genius and who 
exercise it, ever depend for consistent action and 
for admirable efficiency on a strong impelling capa- 
bility, says : 

"Men of genius fluctuate like the wide, uncertain ocean; men 
of will pass on and pierce it with an iron prow." 

When one in whom the Power of Push is potent, 
speaks, his voice, though it be of quiet tone, has a 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 183 

sound which secures attention ; and his words, 
though they be few, have a terseness which com- 
mands respect. But when one who has a weak will 
speaks, his utterance is either unheeded, or is taken 
as the sign of a cowering and subservient soul. 
"Servitude," says Cicero, "is the obedience of a 
subdued and abject mind wanting its own free will." 
How many there are who are in this condition, yet 
who would declare themselves to be not in it ! 
Some persons could in no event be made slaves to 
others. If Julius Caesar had been put in chains, 
would he not have been a master in them ? How 
was it with Joseph, that sublime son of Jacob, when, 
on account of Potiphar's wife's lies, he was confined 
in Pharaoh's state-prison? Did he not show that, if 
he must be a prisoner, he could only be a masterful 
one? Diogenes Laertius tells of Anaxarchus, a 
Greek philosopher, such a story as this : that when, 
by the order of the tyrant Nicocreon, he was put 
into a stone mortar and pounded with iron mallets, 
he exclaimed again and again : 

"Strike, batter; 'tis not Anaxarchus, 'tis but his sheath that 
you pound." 

Of what avail thus to bruise and break that body ? 
Blows of tyranny could no more reduce the man 
himself, who was in it, to a truckling underling, 
than Xerxes' lash-strokes could humiliate the might 
of the sea. But it must be averred that there are 
ten thousand men who, unlike the irrepressible souls 
that I have named, are much of the time cowed 
and servile mortals, ready to be domineered over. 
They have nominal liberty ; but they have not, and 



184 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

will not have, will-power enough to render them 
unabject, unconquerable freemen. "Servitude," 
says Seneca, " seizes on few ; but many seize on 
her." 

The ancient Greeks honored the Power of Push, 
by conceiving it as a person, and by attributing to 
the personal image of it which they formed, the 
dignity of a father and king of gods and men. 
What was their supreme deity, Zeus, but an ideal 
representative of force of will ? The outline of his 
history, as related in pagan mythology, is simply 
this : He was the son of Saturn and Rhea, and was 
born and bred on Mount Ida, in Crete. When he 
had grown up he dethroned his father, and divided 
between himself and his brothers his father's king- 
dom. He chose for his empire the earth and the 
air. He waged a war with the giants, that were 
the sons of Titan and the earth ; and having, with 
his great weapon, the lightning, overcome them, he 
imprisoned them under the waters and the moun- 
tains. The immense benefits he conferred on man- 
kind resulted in his being called Zevg-lTareg^ or Ju- 
piter, (i. e., Zeus-Father,) and in his being made a 
recipient of divine honors. He was celebrated as 
the father of the Muses and the Graces ; of Mer- 
cury, the god of eloquence and commerce ; and of 
Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, war, and the lib- 
eral arts. It was the custom to describe him as the 
compeller of the clouds (Nephelegeretes) and the 
dispenser of their contents, and as holding the light- 
ning in one hand and a scepter in the other. There 
was attributed to him sometimes a look of calmness 
and benignity, and sometimes a look of agitation 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 185 

and anger. By the artists of old he was invariably 
represented with majestic hair, eyebrows, and beard. 
By ancient poets he was depicted as the monarch- 
thunderer among the gods of Mount Olympus. 
Whenever he did but give his nod (so Homer as- 
sures us), 

" High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, 
And all Olympus to the center shook." 

Now the entire foregoing account is in harmony 
with the supposition, nay, with the belief, that the 
god Zeus, or Jupiter, was an ideal being, framed by 
the Greeks on a clear idea of the potency of a great 
will. Not as one consummately righteous and good, 
did those Greeks regard him. In the circle of do- 
mesticity, as well as in other circles, he had his 
times of ill-humor and unwisdom. But he was, in 
their view, always consummately superior in power. 
He could inflict punishment by letting loose furious 
flames accompanied by thunder-sounds. The tallest 
trees of the forest could be quickly overthrown by 
him. He could sit on the clouds, and make them 
shed refreshing showers of rain, or yield ruinous out- 
bursts of hail. He it was that delivered the Cyclops 
from the fetters with which Saturn had bound them. 
He it was that emancipated the hundred-armed 
Uranids. The inhabitants of Libya worshiped him 
under the form of a ram. And this they did, doubt- 
less, on account of the fitness they thought there 
was in choosing that animal as a symbol of the 
impelling strength which they conceived Zeus, or 
Jupiter, to possess. Is it not, then, on the whole, 
quite evident that he was none other than a human 
will apotheosized ? 



186 THE GKEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

In the later ages, mortals have withheld them- 
selves from deifying the Power of Push. They 
have not, however, failed to acknowledge its impor- 
tance by honoring those who have been impressive 
instances of it. All over the world, a profound rev- 
erence is paid to the names of men that have per- 
severed through great difficulties and over great 
obstacles to great successes. Among such names is 
that of Columbus, that of Luther, that of John 
Knox, that of Wellington, that of Washington, that 
of Franklin, that of Daniel Webster, that of Sher- 
man, that of Grant, that of Moltke. 

Some eminent contemplatists have set so high an 
estimate on the Power of Push, as even to think it 
to be that which constitutes the human personality. 
" The will," saysSwedenborg, "is the very essen- 
tial constituent of man." And, in another place, he 
avers yet more distinctly, " The will is the man 
himself." Novalis says, " A character is a complete- 
ly-fashioned will." And Coleridge, in a conversa- 
tion with Emerson at Highgate, London, 1833, said: 
" The will is that by which a person is a person ; 
because if one should push me in the street, and so 
I should force the man next me into the kennel, I 
should at once exclaim, ' I did not do it, sir,' mean- 
ing it was not my will." * 

Start a hoop along the ground, and continually 

* This opinion respecting the will, notwithstanding the fact that 
it was advanced by so acute a thinker as Coleridge, cannot well be 
adopted. The real person is the self-knowing substance, and the 
will is one of the properties of that substance. If not so, then it 
must be maintained that all the cognitive faculties — perception, 
memory, imagination, &c. — are properties and faculties of the 
will, — a position one cannot easily conceive to be tenable. 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 187 

apply to it the force of the hand, and it will contin- 
ually make progress ; withdraw from it the force of 
the hand, and it will quickly stop and fall. Now, 
the Power of Push holds, in any path of endeavor, 
the same relation to human achievement that the 
force of the hand, in the case mentioned, holds to the 
progress of the hoop. There are hundreds of mor- 
tals who, like an unurged hoop, have stopped and 
fallen, because, in an evil hour, their impelling capa- 
bility slackened and dwindled, leaving them to lapse 
into the unmanning embrace of appetite, of passion, 
of immoderate grief, or of dreamy indolence. When 
the Power of Push ceases to be effective in a man, 
the power of stagnation enters into him. Better is 
it to be extravagantly intense, with a vigorous will 
behind the eye, as is usually the case with unflinch- 
ing fanatics, than to sink into worthlessness for want 
of vigor of will. It is related of Sarah, the Duchess 
of Marlborough, whose impelling capability was al- 
most the only characteristic that entitled her to re- 
spect, that at one time, when she was suffering from 
a fit of illness, and was apparently so feeble she 
could neither speak nor recognize impressions made 
on her senses, she heard her physician say to the 
attendants at her bedside, " She must be blistered 
or she will die ; " whereupon she started, like a 
lightning-flash, from her lethargy, and in an ugly, 
spiteful tone of voice exclaimed, " I won't be blis- 
tered, and I won't die ! " And, notwithstanding 
the precariousness of her condition, she fulfilled the 
fiery promise which went forth from her pallid lips. 



188 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



II. 

A COMPARISON, AS TO THE IMPELLING CAPABILITY, 
BETWEEN THE ENGLISH AND THE AMERICANS. 

"The people have that nervous-hilious temperament which is 
known by medical men to resist every means employed to make 
its possessor subservient to the will of others." 

Emerson, English Traits, p. 83. 

" Them we know, the high-souled, natural, unaffected, the citi- 
zen heroes." Edward Everett. 

As A people, the English may be said to exem- 
plify a customary pushing force of mind, or, in other 
words, a qualification for perseverance, which is spe- 
cially noteworthy. In them the will is a stout, stren- 
uous faculty, which causes them to evince a sedate 
patience in doing, and an iron sternness in daring. 
Whatever their hand findeth to do, they do it with 
their might; for they do it with true will-power, 
and this is their might. How slow they are to think 
it possible for them to fail ! They always expect 
success, because they invariably give the "par of 
exchange " for it. It cannot well be doubted that 
they have inherited from ancestral sources peculiar- 
ities of natural constitution, which greatly promote 
on their part the development of the impelling capa- 
bility. Their blood is strongly fertilizing. It flows 
through their frames a vigorous stream, wherein 
commingle properties which have come down from 
far-off springs, and which are exactly fitted to feed 
the energies and to sustain the temperament most 
conducive to the acquisition of will-power. Furthest 
back were those aborigines of the island, the Celts. 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 189 

They were sturdy producers, and " had an alphabet, 
astronomy, priestly culture, and a sublime creed." 
Their religion was Druidism. The Belgic Goths, a 
hardy people whose progenitors were from Scythia 
in Asia, entered the island from Gaul, and drove the 
Celts before them. It is reasonable to suppose that, 
in process of time, there was some commingling of 
Celtic with Gothic blood. When Julius Caesar, fifty- 
five years before the birth of Christ, came with an 
army to conquer the Britons, he found them divided 
into confederacies which, according to Tacitus, were 
" powerful nations." Strabo, speaking of their per- 
sonal characteristics at that period, describes them 
as having so high a stature that many of their 
young men were " half a foot taller than the tallest 
men." They were marked by honesty, dignity, and 
individuality. Caesar had but moderate success in 
his attempts to subjugate them, and would by no 
means have succeeded as well as he did, had they 
not, by reason of lack of military discipline, fought 
each by himself rather than unitedly. In the days of 
Claudius, one of their chiefs, whose name was Carac- 
tacus, was captured and carried to Rome as a prisoner. 
Being brought before the throne, he appeared so un- 
daunted and majestic, that the emperor was moved 
to order his fetters to be struck off, and him and 
his family to be treated with unusual attention. In 
the fifth century, the powerful Saxons, Angles, and 
Jutes, going forth from Germany, invaded the land, 
and established themselves in it. To know what 
they were, one may study the careers of the brothers 
Hengist and Horsa, of Cerdic and his son Kenric, 
of Egbert and Ethered, of Alfred the Great and 



190 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Edward the Elder. In the eighth century, the 
Danes and the Normans (or Northmen) swarmed 
into Britain from the shores of the Baltic, and occu- 
pied certain parts of the country. And to know 
what they were, one may study the careers of Swein 
and Olave, Canute and Harold. The appellation 
England (^Anglia) resulted from the predominant 
influence of the Angles in the island ; and the title 
" Anglo-Saxon," which, according to Trench, origi- 
nated before the name Anglia, shows that the most 
powerful of the ancestors from whom descended the 
English of this day, were the Angles, and the next 
most powerful of them the Saxons. 

The English are an ungarrulous, serious people. 
With a silent, deliberate firmness, they go right on 
in their way. Madame de Stael, speaking of them, 
says : 

" Happy the country where the authors are melancholy, the 
merchants satisfied, the rich gloomy, and where the middling class 
of people are contented ! " 

But see some of the things which are said of them 
by Emerson, in his noble book entitled English 
Traits. 

They have sound bodies, and supreme endurance 
in war and in labor. They are rather manly than 
warlike. They delight in the antagonism which 
combines in one person the extremes of courage and 
tenderness. They walk and ride as fast as they can, 
with their head bent forward, as if urged on some 
pressing affair. The English game is main force to 
main force, the planting of foot to foot, fair play and 
open field, — a rough tug without trick or dodging, 
— till one or both come to pieces. Their mind is 



A PJRINCELY POSSESSION. 191 

not dazzled by its own means, but locked and bolted 
to results. They are bound to see their measure 
carried, and stick to it through ages of defeat. They 
are heavy at the fine arts, but adroit at the coarse. 
The Frenchman invented the ruffle, the Englishman 
added the shirt. They have impressed their direct- 
ness and practical habit on modern civilization. 
Their drowsy minds need to be flagellated by war, 
and trade, and politics, and persecution. They 
attempt no more work than they do. They would 
rather not do anything at all, than not do it well. 
If all the wealth in the planet should perish by war 
or deluge, they know themselves competent to re- 
place it. The very felons have their pride in each 
other's English stanchness. The Englishman is he 
of all men who stands firmest in his shoes. He has 
stamina ; he can take the initiative in emergencies. 
He is never betrayed into any curiosity or unbecom- 
ing emotion. A Frenchman may possibly be clean, 
an Englishman is conscientiously clean. They hate 
innovation. They avoid pretension, and go right to 
the heart of the thing. They like a man committed 
to his objects. In mixed company they shut their 
mouths. They are headstrong believers and defend- 
ers of their opinion. They have extreme difficulty 
to run away, and will die game. They stoutly carry 
into every nook and corner of the earth their tur- 
bulent sense, leaving no lie uncontradicted, no pre- 
tension unexamined. More intellectual than other 
races, when they live with other races they do not 
take their language, but bestow their own. They 
assimilate other races to themselves, and are not 
assimilated. No nation was ever so rich in able 



192 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

men. They are capable of a sublime resolution. 
They have a steady courage that fits them for great 
attempts and endurance. They take hold of things 
by the right end, and there is no slipperiness in their 
grasp. 

Interesting is it to notice how the English are 
spoken of by some of their own representative men. 
" As for my part," says one of the contributors to 
The Spectator, " I am as much surprised when I see 
a talkative Englishman, as I should be to see the 
Indian pine growing on one of our quickset hedges." 
Addison says: 

" To favor our natural taciturnity, when we are obliged to utter 
our thoughts, we do it in the shortest way we are able." 

And he avers that it is on account of this that the 
English language abounds as it does in monosylla- 
bles ; that in so many of its words which are of 
Latin origin, the length of the syllables is con- 
tracted by rapidity of pronunciation ; that such 
words as ' drowned ' and ' arrived ' are shortened 
into ' drown'd ' and ' arriv'd ' ; that the termination 
1 s ' is, in numerous cases, substituted for that of 
' eth ' ; that the letter ' s ' is, on many occasions, 
used at the end of words as an equivalent for ' his ' 
or ' her ' ; and that two words are often drawn into 
one, as in the case of the epitomization of ' may 
not' into 'mayn't,' of 'cannot' into 'can't,' and 
of ' will not ' into ' won't.' Thomas Hughes, the 
author of Tom Brown' 's School-Days at Rugby, repre- 
sents as dear to every Englishman " the conscious- 
ness of silent endurance, — of standing out against 
something, and not giving in." Alluding to the 



A PKINCELY POSSESSION. 193 

pluck which characterizes even the youths of his 
nation, he says : 

"It's very odd how almost all English boys love danger; you 
can get ten to join a game, or climb a tree, or swim a stream, 
where there's a chance of breaking their limbs, or getting drowned, 
for one who'll stay on level ground, or in his depth, or play quoits 
or bowls." 

That same author, I may add, forcibly illustrates, 
in his style of composition, something of the English 
relish for short, forcible terms. In the second sen- 
tence of his book, he has thirty-seven or thirty-eight 
Anglo-Saxon words ; and on the tenth page of it, in 
a sentence of ninety-six words, there can be counted 
ninety-four that are Anglo-Saxon, and that, with 
the exception of twenty-four of them, are monosyl- 
lables. 

I am proud to pay honor to the English greatness 
of will ; for I know that the descendants of the 
American founders that toiled so well in the seven- 
teenth century, and of the American revolutionists, 
that fought so well in the eighteenth century, are 
inheritors of English blood and Anglo-Saxon speech. 
Those mother-country Britons, with their plump, 
stocky bodies and their somewhat melancholy souls, 
are the most long-enduring men on the earth. 
Though they excessively love the real, and unduly 
distrust the ideal, they plan and perform things 
which no other people can equal. We of America 
are more energetic than they ; but we are inferior 
to them in constitutional fitness for vast, quiet, 
sublime toil. We are the more ingenious, they are 
the more powerful. While we are doing many fine 
things, they are doing some one mighty thing which 
13 



194 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

they alone are fully adapted to do. They advance 
slowly toward results ; but they admirably compen- 
sate for their lack of rapidity in approaching them, 
by insuring to them such magnificence and such per- 
fection. How grand is that indifference to duration 
which characterizes English achievers ! They hurry 
nothing to completion. All their distinguished works 
seem to inculcate the lesson : 

" Learn to labor and to wait." 

Sir Christopher Wren held himself for thirty-five 
years to his stupendous task, St. Paul's Cathedral ; 
and at last the finished product of his genius and 
skill stood forth, bearing the motto, " If you seek his 
monument, look around." James Watt, having set 
himself to improve the steam-engine, worked there- 
on as if many years were a few days. He kept 
himself calm and cool, avoided getting either fidgety 
or impatient, ate long at his meals, put " a solid bar 
of sleep between day and day," and finally secured 
to the world a locomotive machine, whereby all the 
aspects of civilization were to be changed. When 
the Great Eastern first sailed down the Thames, it 
was not only great but consummate. It was a mov- 
ing symbol of the national strength — a vessel capa- 
ble of floating seven thousand full-grown elephants. 

The Americans, in respect to the exemplification 
of true will-power, are not to be considered as much 
excelled by the English. Certainly there have been 
on the western continent not a few famous in- 
stances illustrative of the worth of the impelling 
capability. This it was that kept the strong-brained 
New Englanders from taking any backward steps 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 195 

after they had fired that defensive shot which was 
" heard round the world." It is the principal ex- 
planation of the unparalleled growth by which the 
North American republic, once only an infantine 
confederacy, has become a nation of adult propor- 
tions — a nation " mirrored in the Atlantic and the 
Pacific, the stateliest of earthly sovereignties." 

What persevering Americans there have been ! 
Long ago, it was set down in foreign books, that 
the American whalers, navigators, and mariners 
have no superiors. The first milled nail, the first 
lightning-rod, the first steamboat, the first quadrant, 
the first cotton-gin, the first specimen of vulcanized 
India rubber, the first photograph,* the first sew- 
ing-machine, the first seed-planting machine, the 
first reaping-machine, and the first phonograph — 
each owed its existence to an American, whose will 
was wont to push him on and on in toilsome pro- 
cesses. The strength of the Power of Push, in true 
representatives of our Republic, was well illustrated 
b}^ Washington, who showed mankind, in a life of 
constant fidelity to right principles, how " by the 
smallest means to attain the greatest ends." I will 
name other illustrators of it: Franklin, who, rising 
from the obscurity of a tallow-chandler's son to the 
eminence of a peerless political ambassador and a 
distinguished scientific discoverer, " tempered the 
rigor of human government, and drew from the 
thundering atmosphere its fiery dangers ; " Fisher 
Ames, who, being left fatherless in early boj^hood, 
grew up amid taxing circumstances to be an orator 

* Professor Draper made the first one, though Daguerre first 
showed how to turn photography to practical account. 



196 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

equal to Sheridan ; Thomas Blanchard, who, in 
courses of protracted intellectual application accom- 
panied by careful handiwork, produced his wonder- 
ful lathes ; and Abraham Lincoln, who, in his earlier 
years, toiled with the ax and on the flat-boat, and in 
his later ones, won the veneration of nations by his 
sterling statesmanship. 

Not far can one go on these lands between the 
ocean and the ocean, without meeting numerous 
notable works, which refer for their origin to the 
impelling power, not less than to the productive 
ability, of American souls. It is a people that have 
reared up smooth, magically-acting things where 
there were rough and unenchanting things. It is a 
people that have wrought out a myriad times a 
myriad new forms, wherein to make serviceable 
old forces. Travel across the States, and see what 
may be seen ! There are the strange machines that 
hum or roar in the shops of the unresting men of 
Massachusetts and of Connecticut, and that, mean- 
while, turn out by the car-load products which the 
world needs. There is the Hoosac tunnel, twenty- 
one thousand feet in length, which, in the years that 
saw it take form beneath the mountain's huge rump, 
progressed to completion by the smallest fractions 
of an inch, yet progressed as surely as the Gulf 
Stream flowed down the seas. There are the im- 
mense coal-mining methods and operations of the 
Pennsylvanians. There is the Erie Canal. There 
is the electro-magnetic telegraph, with its more than 
a hundred thousand miles of wires. There is the 
magnificent suspension bridge below Niagara Falls. 
There are the vast bridges which span the Missis- 



A PEINCELY POSSESSION. 197 

sippi and the Missouri. There is the awe-inspiring 
Hoe cylinder printing-press, which is adequate to 
the making of forty thousand newspaper impressions 
in an hour. There is the Monitor war-ship, with its 
iron-clad hulk and its revolving battery. There is 
the great solemn columbiad, in which are combined 
the gun, the howitzer, and the mortar. There is 
the railway over the Rocky Mountains. And there 
is Chicago, built again on the ashy ground of her 
ruined glory. These, I affirm, are monumental 
achievements which celebrate the Power of Push as 
exemplified by Americans. 

It is true that this people, like the English, are 
extremely devoted to definite reality and utility. 
Too little exercise do they give to veneration, hope, 
ideality, and the other spiritual capabilities. They 
are not enough inclined to elevating speculation. 
Victor Hugo, in Les Miserables, makes his Bishop 
Myriel say t 

"The beautiful is as useful as the useful; more so, perhaps." 

This truth the Americans, like the English, seem to 
forget. They cultivate their nature-soul much, their 
spirit-soul not enough. The ancient kings of Persia 
(so says Plutarch) refused to drink any water but 
that of the river Choaspes. The American people 
seem more sadly self-limiting ; for they generally 
withhold their mind from refreshing itself anywhere 
apart from the bounds of the tangible and practical. 
Ever are they on the alert for something that can 
be weighed or measured, something that can be sum- 
marily put to use or promptly turned to profit. At 
Crystal Palace they are seen taking notes of labor- 



198 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

saving machines. Amid Niagara's grandeur they 
are disposed to exclaim, " What a waste of water- 
power ! " 

It is true, also, that the Americans tend more than 
they should, to motion and hurry. Herein they are 
unlike the English. The tendency shows itself from 
youth up. The typical lad of the great Republic 
nervously says, " Read me a story to make the time 
pass quick." What knows he by experience of the 
meaning of the word "moderate," or of the phrase, 
"keeping the head level?" A certain American 
mother is said to have, in one instance, commanded 
her noisy, playful son, James, to " sit down quietly 
for the next hour," and to have received the reply, 
"Why, mother, I can't keep still; I'd burst right 
open, I know I would, if I couldn't run, and laugh, 
and get the noise out of me." There was another 
boy of the nation, who, on being required to sit 
down and keep still for a little while, pretty soon 
said, " Oh, dear ! how stones must ache keeping still 
always ! I ache now in this little speck of a time." 
From the inclination to motion and hurry, thus illus- 
trated, comes the liability to what is known as Ameri- 
can fast life. 

Now, be it understood, the two faults I have 
pointed out as appertaining to tmr people, are not 
chargeable to the Power of Push in them. They 
are over-utilitarian — why ? Because thej r let them- 
selves be so. They are marked by inordinate stir 
and impetuous onward-goingness — why ? Because 
they guard not themselves, as they might and ought, 
against being so. The fast American, whether young 
or old, is what he is, not in consequence of the fact 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 199 

that his impelling capability drives him to excesses 
in spite of himself, but in consequence of the fact 
that he himself has chosen the way of folly, and left 
himself to be pushed onward therein, at a break- 
neck rate, by that capabili'". 



III. 

GREAT IMPELLING CAPABILITY INDISPENSABLE TO 
GREAT TRIUMPHS. 

1 'The man who distinguishes himself from the rest, stands in a 
press of people. Those before him intercept his progress f and those 
behind him, if he does not urge on, will tread him down." 

Sir Richard Steele, The Spectator, No. 374. 

"When a firm, decisive spirit is recognized, it is curious to see 
how the space clears around a man, and leaves him room and free- 
dom. ... A conviction that he understands and that he wills with 
extraordinary force, silences the conceit that intended to perplex 
or instruct him, and intimidates the malice that was disposed to 
attack him. There is a feeling, as in respect to Fate, that the 
decrees of so inflexible a spirit must be right, or that, at least, 
they will be accomplished." 

John Foster, Decision of Character. 

To attain to any magnificent result of individual 
energy, whether it be a discovery or an invention, 
a victory over hindering circumstances or a conquest 
over hostile men, one must have a mighty will. The 
Power of Push in him must have such efficacy, that 
it will prevent him from shrinking back from what 
he has attempted. It must be accustomed to act 
firmly, indefatigably, prevailingly. The history of 
human progress abounds with records which amply 



200 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

confirm this statement. The impelling capability, it 
is true, is not a faculty which peers into mysteries, 
or which plans undertakings. It neither kens the 
unattained, nor devises how to find way thereto. 
Harvey's will was not that in him which gave him 
his conception of the blood-circulation, and New- 
ton's will was not that in him which gave him 
his idea of the gravitation-law. Nevertheless, it is 
a warrantable influence that, without great will- 
power, Harvey would never have made his ascer- 
tainment respecting the sanguineous process, and 
Newton would never have seized hold of his deduc- 
tion respecting the spheres. 

The Power of Push, so developed and so trained 
as to be exhaustlessly able, is a requisite to civiliza- 
tion which, in all the generations of this rolling world, 
has shown itself entitled to emphatic acknowledg- 
ment. But for this, what treasures of nature, tan- 
gible and intangible, would have remained unknown ! 
But for this, what forces would, from century to 
century, have acted for the bewilderment of mortals, 
rather than for their benefit ! But for this, how 
gloomy and barren would be the paths of scientific 
research and of mechanical activity ! Independently 
of this, men would doubtless have thought of such 
things as ships, colonies, manufactories, railroads, 
newspapers, asylums, colleges, reforms, and exploring 
expeditions; but they would have gone dreaming 
about them, — they would not, it is reasonable to 
believe, have seen them as facts. The truth-seeker 
is, by this, urged on till he comes to the truth. The 
unraveler of perplexities is, by this, held strong in 
his struggle with kinks and knots, till, under his 



A PEINCELY POSSESSION. 201 

steady eye, the intricate becomes plain and the 
crooked straight. The student of common objects 
is, by this, empowered to have success in turning 
them inside out, and rifling them of their hidden 
meanings. Without this, never yet did any man 
prove to be a representative of true kingliness, or 
an instance of invincible courage. " The natural 
king," says Carlyle, "is one who melts all wills into 
his own." And Gerald Massey says : 

" They've battled best who've boldliest borne." 

When a human soul applies itself to some waiting 
task, with a concentration and a continuity attribu- 
table to and sustained by an unfailing will, then look 
for some great result ! Who were the victorious toil- 
ers that left their light tingeing with tranquil glory 
the historic sky ? They were persons who were 
wont, with a tremendous earnestness, to say, " I will ! " 
Would you know, reader, how the renowned finders 
of nature's secrets made their discoveries ? I will 
tell you. Ten thousand times had superficial and 
irresolute minds surveyed the region where the won- 
derful hidden thing was, and regarded it as unat- 
tractive and sterile. But one day a mind, thought- 
ful and inquiring, penetrating and careful, began to 
employ its faculties and energies within the bounds 
of that seemingly unpromising territory. Impelled 
by the capability which gives rise to perseverance, 
it fixed its piercing gaze on the dull externals which 
were there, saw little by little into them, perceived 
at length, as " through a glass darkly," the precious 
wonder which lay partly in them and partly beneath 
them, and finally, after a noble endurance in en- 



202 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

deavor, captured that wonder and gave it to man- 
kind. When Leopold von Buch was making his 
geological discoveries, he traversed all Europe on 
foot, and once went from Berlin to Stockholm to 
see a fossil shell. Lyonnet spent years exploring in 
respect to a certain caterpillar, which had for its 
haunt the wood of the European willow. In order 
to secure drawings to illustrate his discoveries, he 
learned the art of drawing ; and in order to secure 
engravings of his drawings, he learned the art of 
engraving. Thus, by reason that a great will pushed 
him on, he found out facts and produced delinea- 
tions relative to insect metamorphosis, which aston- 
ished the scientists of the world. Thomas Young, 
the originator of the modulatory theory of light, was 
urged by a powerful impelling capability in prose- 
cuting the vast solitary investigations which resulted 
in that theory. Impossible, without that, would it 
have been for him, in a time when such an explana- 
tion of light could bring him no honor, to perform, 
as its evolver and elucidator, so immense a service 
to science. 

It is interesting to watch the progress of a supe- 
rior mind, made self-reliant and persevering by an 
ever-efficacious will, as that mind, with the fixed 
intention never to cease its strivings save at the 
point of triumph, fights against obstructing and 
resisting circumstances. Men, beholding such an 
instance of exerted genius and impelling capability, 
feel that triumph in the case is sure. And, to speak 
humanly, it is sure. Soon the apparent Impossibili- 
ties which confront the warrior-intellect, will be 
grappled with and turned aside. Soon the rugged, 



A PEIXCELY POSSESSION. 203 

puissant monster, Difficulty, which is encountered by 
the daring assailant of impeding actualities, will be 
pierced to the quick, and left disabled and quivering 
by the way. 

From the books which tell how departed illustrious 
men wrought and struggled, and from those other 
books known as living discoverers, inventors, and 
achigvers, there may be gathered a weighty lesson ; 
and it is the lesson that the cost of a great triumph 
is invariably earnest effort, brought by a great will 
to bear in a single direction, and rendered by the 
same continuous in spite of all obstacles and all 
antagonisms. Whoever will pay this cost, he shall 
in the end have renown. And, be it remembered, 
he who is qualified to pay it, can never be in want 
of a noble task. Science, art, literature, politics, 
religion, society, commerce — each of these will open 
to him some field wherein he can do a true and 
admirable work. The known has no extreme limit, 
no Ultima Thule, beyond which such a one cannot 
make a way for himself as an explorer. He can 
enter untried regions of things, and all along his 
pioneer path can ascertain new relations and princi- 
ples, new processes and forces. Thus can he neces- 
sitate a reclassification of positive knowledge, and 
a reconstruction of long-entertained theories and 
hypotheses. 

To him whose intellectual faculties are languidly 
waiting for something to do, well might it be said : 
Why art thou, day by day, incurious and aimless, 
while, in the wide kingdoms of being and life, so 
many treasures lie unreached, and so many marvels 
lie hidden? Dost thou not know that every leaf, 



204 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

every pebble, every sunbeam, every walking, flying, 
creeping, throbbing thing has a history ? Go and write 
that history ! Go, at least, and learn a few of the un- 
recorded facts which belong to it ! Train thine eye to 
be more keen, thine ear to be more susceptible, thy 
mind to be more studious, and thy will to be a strong, 
manly, and ready power, adequate to impel thee 
from attempt to attempt and from effort to effort, 
and thou shalt come to know some of the concealed 
facts which appertain to those little entities. Thou 
shalt see beauties such as no limner has penciled. 
Thou shalt hear music such as no man-made harp 
has sung. Thou shalt, perhaps, discover and render 
available more than one secret of nature that' will 
change the look of the world. 

" Stranger ! henceforth be warned ; and know that pride, 
Howe'er disguised in his own majesty, 
Is littleness ; that he who feels contempt 
For any living thing, hath faculties 
Which he has never used ; that thought with him 
Is in its infancy." 

Wordsworth. 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 205 



IV. 



RELATION OF THE IMPELLING CAPABILITY TO 
SUCCESS IN COMMON LIEE. 

" The true question is not, Whose son are you ? — What kind of 
a dress do you wear ? — How much cash are you worth ? But this 
is the true question : How much executive power do you wear 
under your hat ? — How much ' can do ' walks in your boots ? " 

E. L. Magoon, Lyceum Lecture. 

" There are three kinds of men in the world, — the Wills, the 
Won'ts, and the Can'ts. The first effect everything ; the others 
oppose everything. ' I will ' builds our railroads and steamboats ; 
'I won't' don't believe in experiments and nonsense; while 'I 
can't ' grows weeds for wheat, and commonly ends his days in the 
slow digestion of bankruptcy." American Newspaper. 

Between some persons and others, there is a 
difference respecting success in common life, which 
will be found to correspond exactly to the difference 
existing between them in force of will. The truth 
is, men and women, viewed in relation to progress 
and prosperity, in the ordinary courses of human 
endeavor, belong either to the one or to the other 
of these two classes : 

The efficient persons, who undertake an occupation 
or an enterprise, and by a steady advance attain to 
the object they wish for and aim at. 

TJie inefficient persons, who make attempts to gain 
what is desirable, but rarely, if ever, accomplish any- 
thing worthy of mention. 

Emerson, speaking to an audience of students, 
once said : " I conceive that success is in finding 
what it is that you yourself really want, and pursu- 



206 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ing it. The remark is a deep one, and its meaning 
may be deqlared to be illustrated in the lives of the 
first-named class of mortals. Visit them in the 
places where they daily move, and observe their 
characteristics and their modes ! The obvious, sa- 
lient facts which appertain to them in general, will 
be found to be greatly instructive. Their faculties 
and energies, though not extraordinarily applied, are 
applied availingly — or rather prevailingly. They 
insure to themselves a life-long series of happ}^ reali- 
zations. They thrive. Let their pursuit be what it 
may, and let what may occur along the line of it, 
they press ever surely on to gain their purpose. 
Scarcely do they know by experience what it is to 
shrink back, with unnerved hands and a counte- 
nance expressive of failure, from a task which they 
have once deliberately set out to perform. For 
hardships they have no dread, but a kind of real 
liking, which is proof that they draw something 
sweet out of them, just as bees draw honey out of 
thistles. Never do they go begging for success. It 
comes to them naturally, spontaneously. It seems, 
forsooth, to dart into existence as if to greet their 
very finger-tips, somewhat as electric sparks spring 
into being when the point of a metallic conductor is 
held near a charged cylinder of glass. Do they find 
their surroundings unfavorable, and do they per- 
ceive no feasible or honorable alternative but to 
make the most of the situation they occupy ? If so, 
then, waiting not for time or for Providence to pro- 
duce a change for the better, they coolly, yet vigor- 
ously, begin a work of improvement. Against the 
jagged, gnarled things which are in their way, they 



A PKINCELY POSSESSION. 207 

deal out strokes of manly violence. They hack down 
bad circumstances, and supply their places with 
good ones. Instead of saying " I can't," they say 
" I will ! " How impediments diminish and wither 
about them ! How difficulties relax to tameness 
before them ! They are not long in effecting bright 
clearings on the territory of wild and appalling 
besetments. Herein, they may be likened to those 
pioneer toilers who founded new seats for civiliza- 
tion in the American forests of two hundred and 
sixty years ago. Let us suppose a few possibilities. 
Should one of the class of mortals, now under con- 
sideration, be constrained, by what is called Fate, 
to settle on a bleak, stony hill-side, or in a valley 
infested by ferocious beasts, he would, at least, con- 
trive somehow to gather there the materials for a 
living. Should one of them, with a view to a per- 
manent stay, build his sheltering roof on a desert 
shore, he would in due time evoke from the sterile 
soil gladdening verdure and blossoms as fair as the 
flower of the rose. Should one of them, by a strange 
concurrence of events or influences, be led to locate 
his domicile on a spot so dismal, that Hope might be 
said to have fled from it, and Despair might be con- 
ceived to brood over it, he would, even there, soon 
have the unmistakable signs of progressive and pros- 
perous life springing up around him. 

The great multitude of folk are wont to regard 
with wonder the success of such persons. But 
would they know the prime secret of it? Let them 
understand, then, that it is not accident, not luck, 
not any special propitiousness of Providence. It is 
the Power of Push, rendered valorous and effective 



208 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

by a true training which was begun in youth, and 
which has been continued uninterruptedly from 
youth upward. This is that whereby human energy 
is enabled to make dreary places take on an abid- 
ing pleasantness, arid ground become fruitful, and 
beauty spring up where desolation keeps its silence 
and spreads its mildew. 

Behold yonder enterprising farmer ! His grounds, 
as a hundred men have observed, yield him, year by 
year, handsome harvests. His house is snug and 
fair. His barn is commodious and well-preserved. 
His fences are so strong that no headstrong beast 
can break them down, and so high that lazy persons 
can hardly climb over them. But there is another 
farmer not far away, who, with just as good natural 
opportunities, complains that his land brings forth 
scanty crops ; who dwells in an old dingy structure 
which he calls a house ; who stores the produce of 
his fields in a barn, the roof of which shockingly 
leaks, and the basal sills of which are rapidly going 
to decay ; and who has fences that are so poor and so 
low a grasshopper could overleap them, much more a 
horse, a cow, or a sheep. Behold yonder enterpris- 
ing merchant ! ' There is a genuine bustle from day 
to day about his counters. He is blessed with an 
incessant influx of money into his tills. Moreover, 
he, from time to time, finds it needful to provide 
fresh room for his ever-expanding business. But, 
just across the street perhaps, there is another mer- 
cantile man, who began trade with an equal amount 
of capital and with equal advantages of situation, 
yet who scarcely reaps any profits, and who feels 
himself forced annually to shorten the diameter of 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 209 

his circle of operations. Now, what is that which, in 
all such cases, is the chief reason of the difference 
so strikingly apparent ? The answer is, it is differ- 
ence in force of will. 

" Take this for granted, once for all, 
There is neither chance nor fate ; 
And to sit and wait for the sky to fall, 
Is to wait as the foolish wait. 

" The laurel longed for you must earn, 
It is not of the things men lend ; 
And though the lesson be hard to learn, 
The sooner the better, my friend." 

Alice Cary. 

John Foster relates an instance that may fitly be 
cited by way of pointing the meaning already ex- 
pressed. In presenting it, I will omit some of the 
minor particulars. It is substantially this : 

A young possessor of a large patrimony had, in 
two or three years, wasted his inheritance in profli- 
gate revels. In his condition of want, he went forth 
one day with the intention of putting an end to his 
life. As he wandered about, absorbed in gloomy 
reverie, he came to the brow of an eminence, from 
which, looking abroad, he beheld his lost estates. 
He sat down, and for a number of hours remained 
fixed in thought. When he arose, he did so with a 
sudden start, and with a vehement, exulting emo- 
tion. He had resolved that all those estates should 
be his again. His will instantly began to push him 
on to the accomplishment of his plan. Seeing a 
heap of coals lying on the pavement in front of a 
house, he offered himself to shovel or wheel them 
into the place where they were to be deposited, and 
14 



210 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

was employed. He received a few pence for the 
labor, and, having made request for some food, re- 
ceived that also. He then sought another oppor- 
tunity for earning some money, however small the 
sum 'might be. With indefatigable industry, he 
went through a succession of servile employments 
in different places, all the time avoiding the least 
expense that was not absolutely necessary. Thus, 
after a considerable period, he gained means enough 
to purchase a few cattle. These he sold at such a 
price as to secure in the bargain a goodly profit. 
He advanced by degrees to larger transactions. He 
obtained incipient wealth. He added money to 
money, riches to riches, and even more than recov- 
ered his lost possessions. Foster, after mentioning 
the fact that the man died an inveterate miser, 
worth sixty thousand pounds, says : " I have always 
recollected this as a signal instance, though in an 
unfortunate and ignoble direction, of decisive char- 
acter, and of the extraordinary effect which, accord- 
ing to general laws, belongs to the strongest form of 
such a character." 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 211 



V. 

RELATION OF THE IMPELLING CAPABILITY TO 
HUMAN JOY. 

" On the whole, she [Nature] . . . hardens her genuine children 
against the pains and evils she incessantly prepares for them ; so 
that we name him the happiest man who is the strongest to make 
front against evil, to put it aside from him, and in defiance of it go 
the road of his own will." Goethe. 

Pleasure is cheap, but joy is costly. Concern- 
ing the former, shouting Folly and simpering Van- 
ity, gushing fops and dainty demoiselles, may be 
said to know much ; but concerning the latter, only 
persevering workers and battlers can be truly said 
to know anything. I believe that Tubal Cain, the 
inventor of iron-forging, was a man of joy, for I 
cannot doubt that, in his patient strivings in his 
antediluvian workshop, he fulfilled the conditions 
of a joyful experience. Undertake things worthy of 
yourself, and persevere till you have accomplished 
them, then you will have joy. You will not have it 
otherwise. Swedenborg says : " Food for the body 
is given to every one in heaven, according to the. use 
which he performs, — magnificent to those who are 
in eminent uses ; moderate, but of exquisite relish, 
to those who are in uses of middle degree ; and mean 
to those who are in mean uses ; but none to the 
slothful." Somewhat so is it, in this world, respect- 
ing happiness. The indolent have it not ; they who 
are active, but are of weak will, have it only in low 
degrees ; and none but firm-minded strivers have it 



212 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

in any of those high degrees in which it amounts to 
joy or bliss. 

There was Archimedes. How familiar with human 
joy was he ! According to Plutarch, he was wont 
to be " transported with intellectual delight." And 
why? Because he used to attempt noble work, and 
bend his soul to the doing of it till it was done. He 
went through great processes of thought, as a geo- 
metrician and as a philosopher. Kepler was a joyful 
man. And the reason why was this : he applied 
himself to tasks proportionate to his powers, and 
finished them. Joy was the crown wherewith his 
persevering toil, as an astronomer, was crowned. So 
dear to him was one of his discoveries, on account 
of the delight whereof it had been the occasion, that 
he once declared he valued it, at the time of mak- 
ing it, more than he would have done the possession 
of the whole electorate of Saxony. Such prevailing 
workers as Archimedes, Kepler, Bacon, Boyle, and 
Sir Isaac Newton, are not apt to be in danger of 
committing suicide because of not being able to be 
happy. There was David Hume. Some people 
have imagined that, since he was such a skeptic as 
regards the Christian religion, he must have been a 
joyless man. But the truth is, he was an indefati- 
gable thinker and writer. He gained, by persever- 
ance in effort, ends which were to him dear-bought 
triumphs ; consequently they were to him occasions 
of joy. We must believe that, so. long as his valiant 
will pushed him on in intellectual strivings, he was 
a man of high delights. Indeed, this belief is amply 
confirmed by testimony. The averment of those 
who knew him, was to the effect that he bore, in 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 213 

" the jolly openness of his countenance," the proof 
of a mind accustomed to elevated enjoyment. The 
eminent Adam Smith even went so far as to repre- 
sent him to have been, in his personal qualities, " as 
near to perfection as the lot of humanity will ad- 
mit." All this, of course, makes nothing for that 
infidelity which doomed his name to come down 
colored to after-generations. It simply goes to 
establish the lesson which has been advanced, — 
namely, that whoever has a will so strong as to keep 
him in its own chosen track of exertion, and to hold 
him patient and courageous therein up to the tri- 
umph-point, he will be joyful. 

And now, courteous reader, take for a sequel to 
the treatment of the present topic, some simple 
lines, which have a direct bearing on the foregoing 
thoughts, and which, in their first form, were com- 
posed by this writer in his college 3-ears. They will 
not ask to be prized save for what they suggest. 
This is their caption : 

THE STRIVER'S HOLIDAY. 

In Truth's still field behold a stranger striving ! 

His brow is knitted, for his will is strong ; 
Of balmy ease himself he is depriving, 

To bring to pass what men have needed long. 

Dull idlers gaze on him with dreamy wonder, 
And weaklings watch him with a stupid stare ; 

They fancy he hath made a sorry blunder, 
To count upon a thrill of gladness there. 

Time rolleth on. His taxing labor endetb, 

And be from his lone work-place cometh forth ; 

From strain severe his firm mind he unbendeth : 
A triumph he hath wrought of passing worth. 



214 THE GBEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Mark, now, in his clear eye that strange fine luster — 

The sign of feelings wondrously elate! 
See the fair smiles which round his flushed lips cluster! 

Surely his soul is in a blissful state. 

Thus doth the manly one, the earnest-hearted, 
After some triumph grand, oft take his way ; 

Thus to his mind joy often is imparted, 
And his high faculties hold holiday. 

He loseth sight of all that breedeth sadness, 
He scarcely sees save with the inner sense ; 

His bright thoughts seem to clap their hands for gladness, 
His speech, whate'er its form, is eloquence. 

At such a time the soul of man is glorious : 
Its rapture seems to be an upward flight, 

In which, o'er earthly din and clouds victorious, 
It floats and revels in a purer light. 

How poor it then doth deem all fleshly pleasure ! 

And the extolled delights of wealth, how tame! 
Its joy is deep, is great, is without measure, — 

A bliss it is for which earth hath no name. 



VI. 

EXCESSES OF THE IMPELLING CAPABILITY. 

Id arbitror 

Adprime in vita esse utile, ne quid nimis. 
("I take it to be a principal rule of life, not to be too much 
addicted to any one thing.") Terence, Andria, Act. L, Scene 1. 

" Nothing so good but it may be abused." 

Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy. 

The will, or, in other words, the Power of Push, 
when it has once acquired the habit of giving rise 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 215 

to great perseverance, is liable to be extremely 
urgent and strenuous. Hence it is that there are so 
many earnest persons in the world, who, in their 
courses of effort, find for themselves too little leisure. 
Man was designed for play as well as for work ; and 
if he commands himself as he ought, he will have 
due proportions of each. Certainly, he will never, 
except in circumstances which necessitate it, be seen 
with a physical constitution pleading in vain for 
time in which to undergo a process of recuperation. 
Hundreds of gifted achievers there are whose impel- 
ling capability disallows them the diversion they 
truly need, and holds them incessantly strained in 
nerve-wearing pursuit. The result is that they are 
workers whose work draws ruinously on their vital 
energies. After a few years, they will be obliged to 
" give up," because they will be worn out. While 
every man should see to it that his will is strong, he 
should also see to it that it does not den}^ him what 
Macaulay calls " hours of careless relaxation." It 
is a serious mistake to let the Power of Push get the 
better of one's very self. Its true place is that of a 
potent helper, not that of a ruler. It should be so 
disciplined and regulated, that it will readily serve 
to render the soul indomitable, and will readily 
slacken when bidden by the soul to yield. Woe to 
that mortal who lets his will make him its subject ! 
To be absolutely governed, in a life of zealous action, 
by one's impelling capability, is to be like a slave 
who is forced and goaded by an exacting and merci- 
less master. 

The tyranny of the will explains why so few great 
Englishmen and great Americans have been instances 



216 THE -GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

of long-lasting bodily vigor and wholeness. Think 
of the aspiring students, the assiduous authors, the 
devoted lovers of scientific research, the able and 
far-sought practitioners at the bar, and the " sons 
of thunder " in the ranks of the clergy, that are, 
at this hour, surely tending, in consequence of the 
same kind of tyrannj^, to the fate of the prematurely 
blighted ! The list of hero-thinkers who have been 
reduced to invalidism, or who have been exhausted 
to death, by an excessive urgency and strenuousness 
of the Power of Push, runs parallel with the record 
of the toilful ages of civilization. When they should 
have checked and held back that power, they left it 
free to exercise itself in rigorism and oppression. 
When they should have ungirded and recreated 
themselves, they suffered the mighty mental engine 
which impelled them toward their object, to press 
their overtasked frames to the point of break-down. 
Such persons are self-made martyrs. William Pitt, 
Sir Samuel Romilly, Hugh Miller, Rufus Choate, 
Theodore Parker, Henry J. Raymond, Edwin Stan- 
ton, Hiram Mattison, John McClintock, Edward 
Thomson, Davis W. Clark, Horace Greeley, Samuel 
Bowles, — each departed this life too soon (just as 
did ten thousand others that might be named), on 
account of not reining in the impelling capability, 
and protecting the body against it. 

Most of the excesses of the will are illustrations 
of the folly of having too much gritty tenacity. 
This is what was exhibited by that Irish gardener, 
who is mentioned by Robert Collier in his lecture 
on Clear G-rit. Having been shot by an Irishman 
from another county, he refused surgical aid, alleg- 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 217 

ing that he wanted to die in order that the other 
man might be hung. Mr. Collier declares that the 
injured son of Erin realized his wish : he himself 
died of his wound, and his assassin died on the gal- 
lows. To persevere with an unwise resolution, even 
in a course of action which is compatible with honor 
and chivalry, is to make a rueful sort of progress. 
Columbus might have failed to discover the New 
World, had he — at that time when the mutinous 
crews of his fleet informed him that he must order 
the vessels turned back, or take the alternative of 
being thrown overboard — let himself have a surplus 
of gritty tenacity. He saw the situation as it was, 
perceived at once how foolish it would be for him to 
show that he meant to adhere to his undertaking in 
defiance of such a league of desperate sailors, and, 
softening to a conciliatory mildness, he said, " Give 
me but three days more," &c. The French, in the 
time of the Franco-Prussian war, should not, after the 
beleaguerment of their capital, have defied and with- 
stood, as they did, their puissant besiegers. Tt was 
no inevitable necessity that compelled them to eat 
horse-flesh soup, and to prize as delicacies crumbs 
and crusts such as, in all ages, have appeared on 
beggars' tables. They brought themselves to par- 
take of poverty's crude, hard fare, because they 
chose to be haughty when they should have been 
humble, and chose to be persistent when they should 
have been yielding. Thus they illustrated the folly 
of having too much gritty tenacity. 

Better is it to allow a person the last word in a 
dispute, than to go on wrangling with him or her 
all the day. Better is it to drop the rod and try 



218 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

" moral suasion," than to flagellate an unruly lad till 
his flesh shall have become numb, and his skin shall 
be covered with purple lines of inflammation. There 
was a man in the town of Medina, in the state of 
New York, who killed a lad in this way, and had to 
be sent to prison for child-slaughter. A suitable 
amount of abstemiousness is indispensable to the 
cure of disease ; but let the invalid beware lest he 
allow his will to become accustomed to resist, with 
an iron severity, the replenishing of the daily wants 
of his body ! " To starve ourselves," says a writer, 
"as a cure for disease, is to be afflicted with two 
evils instead of one : the disease torments us on 
one side, and the remedy on the other." Resolute 
self-defense against intentional aggression or abusive 
insolence, is just and proper ; but to pursue an in- 
flicter of injury, however deserving of punishment 
he may be, with a heart hot with desire for ven- 
geance, a hand drilled for the summary execution of 
a vindictive threat, and an unrelaxing impelling 
capability driving that heart and that hand on to the 
direful triumph of malevolent hate, — this is to seek 
satisfaction for an offense, not after the manner of a 
wise man, but after the manner of a wild human 
beast. Religion, as a personal possession, is abso- 
lutely essential to the highest style of manhood ; 
but it is possible to be righteous overmuch; and 
the Hebrew preacher (Eccl. vii. 16) says : " Be not 
righteous overmuch. . . . Why shouldst thou de- 
stroy thyself? " That is, why shouldst thou suffer 
thyself to be driven, by an unduly urgent and stren- 
uous will, to a ruinous excess of religious devotion ? 
In short, just as the French, in their beleaguered 



A PRINCELY POSSESSION. 219 

metropolis, prepared a cup of misery for themselves 
by holding out so unwisely against the Prussians, 
and just as the fighter of a duel brings dishonor on 
himself by running the risk of getting buried in a 
fool's grave, so a needless loss of comfort or of credit 
is invariably incurred by every one who exemplifies 
the folly of having too much gritty tenacity. 



VII. 

SUMMATION. 

" A man is made great or little by his own will." 

Schiller. 
"The secret of influence is will, whether good or bad." 

Robertson. 

The reader may now be presumed to be ready for 
some condensed presentment of the leading thoughts 
which have been evolved in the different divisions 
of the foregoing discussion. An epitome or sum- 
mation of them may prove profitable, even though 
it be not formed in any manner strictly precise or 
strictly methodical. 

The Power of Push, in its effective state, is the 
fountain of all true perseverance. There can be no 
genuine advancement or genuine thrift in life with- 
out it. Without it, energy is scattered in the ser- 
vice of wayward impulse, time is squandered in 
fitful and inadequate exertion, faith is weak and 
wavering, and courage is little more than an empty 
name. Without it, a young man is a dreamer 



220 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

rather than a doer, and an old man is a disappointed 
dreamer, whose heart is slowly sinking in the gloom 
of miscarried expectations and entombed hopes. 
He who, however well developed may be his other 
capabilities, has an ill-developed impelling capa- 
bility, will prove true in no course of trying expe- 
rience. Where firmness is wanted, he will evince a 
pitiful instability ; where strength is needed, he will 
show a deplorable impotence ; where fidelity is re- 
quired and expected, he will manifest the disposi- 
tion of a self-excusing weakling, whose chief apti- 
tude is an aptitude for miserable delinquencies and 
for shameful failures. 

The Power of Push, in its effective state, is that 
which enables the aspiring toiler to " labor and to 
wait " till the hour of achievement has fully come. 
It is that which supports the courage of man when 
he wages war with difficulties or with antagonisms, 
and lets not his courage wane in the least, till re- 
sistance has surrendered, and the object of endeavor 
is reached and seized. It is that without which no 
person can ever be fitted to gain one noteworthy 
triumph or one passable success ; to carry into effect 
a single manly resolve, or to withstand admirably a 
single hard ordeal ; to give rise to any true stir in 
the world, or to secure any deep-felt thrills of intel- 
lectual joy. Finally, it is that which prevents the 
great processes of civilization from having an end, 
and saves this planet whereon we tread from be- 
coming a vast theatre for the futile operations of 
despair-stricken visionaries and sluggards. 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 



"Shadow of death, what art thou? Man's thoughts survive; 
can he then be no more ? " 

Madame de Stael, Corinne, Book XIII., Chap. III. 



221 



Chapter IV. 
INFLUENCE 



I. 

ITS SUCCESSION OF GENEKATIONS. 

" Achieve the good, and godlike plants possessed 
Already by mankind, thou nourishest ; 
Create the beautiful, and seeds are sown 
Eor godlike plants, to man as yet unknown." 

Schiller. 

" His reflections have given birth to thousands of new reflec- 
tions." Madame de Stael, concerning Montesquieu. 

The French comedy-writer MoliSre speaks of a 
person who, on betaking himself, at a late period of 
his career, to the study of grammar, was amazed to 
find that he had, from his youth up, been using sub- 
stantives, adjectives, adverbs, and the other classi- 
fied parts of speech, without knowing it. Is there 
not many a mortal who, if he should be made to see 
that he has, ever since he began his active life, been 
scattering an ever-living produce, would in like 
manner be amazed to find that he has year after 
year done this without being aware of doing it ? 

True is the Latin aphorism, Nemo solus sapit, "No 
one is wise alone." True, also, is the averment of 

223 



224 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the author of Tom Brown's School- 1) ays at Rugby, 
that " One coward makes many." There is a sense 
in which every person sows seed from which others 
have to reap harvests, and in which every person 
reaps — nay, must reap — harvests from seed which 
others have strewn. The scholiast on Aristophanes 
quotes the proverb, " One soweth, but another shall 
reap;" and Jesus (as one will see by adverting to 
John iv. 37) quoted the same. It is applicable for- 
ever to influence. What human character in this 
world has no part in the production of any other 
human character ? What mortal ever became con- 
spicuously good or conspicuously bad, without being 
able to say truly that another or others had dissemi- 
nated undying thoughts, good or bad, some of which 
found a lodgment in his soul, and that he had gone 
his way afterward reaping of the same ? 

Influence has its succession of generations ; and a 
succession it is which, after being once started, seems 
to run on endlessly. Let thine influence go forth 
in something said by thee or in something done by 
thee, and who can ever know all that will spring 
therefrom? Surely, none but He who knoweth 
all beginnings and all endings. Dispense it by a 
smile or by a frown, by a pathetic sigh or by an 
earnest tear, and who can ever trace the entire line 
of its prospective progeny? Certainly none but 
He who foresees all future outcomes, all destined 
evolutions. " Things past," says Livy, " may be 
repented of, but never erased." Cain's bloody deed 
could never be as if it had never been done ; nor 
could Abel's excellent act of worship ever be as if 
it had never been performed. That fratricide and 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 225 

that pious offering, each contained a seed whence 
speedily sprung a harvest, which extended even to 
the heaven of heavens, and which is }^et being re- 
produced. Victor Hugo avows the belief, that when 
two persons, mutually attached by the sacred tie of 
love, approach each other and exchange the " inef- 
fable kiss," it is impossible the transaction should 
not be followed by a tremor in the immense mys- 
tery of the stars. 

What a wonder of wonders is the propagation of 
influence ! Even the uncultured common man, with 
all his inward lack and all his outward crudity, gives 
rise to a produce which will go on multiplying into 
eternity ; and much more so does the master-man, 
the true star among souls. " Great men," says 
Sydney Smith, " hallow a whole people, and lift up 
all who live in their time." If influence can but 
have a soil to sprout in, it will germinate and repro- 
duce itself through the ages. The celebrated Eng- 
lish traveler, Lord Lindsay, accidentally found, in 
the vicinity of the Egyptian pyramids, a mummy, in 
connection with which was an inscription two thou- 
sand years old. Having unwrapped the dry form, 
he discovered in one of its closed hands a small 
bulb. This he planted in a warm spot, where dew 
and rain could come to it ; and in a few weeks it 
grew, and budded, and became a beautiful blooming 
flower. So with influence. Sometimes it is put 
forth in a vehicle which long lies hidden, but which 
is, in process of time, uncovered. Then it grows 
and multiplies. There was Poggio Bracciolini, that 
restorer of literature who lived in Florence in the 
fifteenth century. See what he did for the influence 
15 



226 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

which, for more than thirteen hundred years, had 
lain unproductive in the language of certain val- 
uable manuscript works of Quintilian and other 
great Roman authors ! Finding those works buried 
in the obscurity of a dark and desolate tower, where 
they were covered with filth and rubbish, he brought 
them into the light of day. And quickly enough, 
when he had done this, did the thoughts which were 
in the words of them burst forth and begin to 
reproduce themselves. 

But here we will turn our attention to points more 
specific, concerning that important part of the For- 
tune of Humanity which is the theme of the pres- 
ent chapter. 



II. 

SILENT EXPRESSION. 

" Silence is often an answer." Arabic Proverb. 

" There is a language of the human countenance which we all 
understand without an interpreter, though the lineaments belong 
to the rudest savage that ever stammered in an unknown barbaric 
dialect." O. W. Holmes. 

"The thought that is bound up with our passion is as pene- 
trating as air — everything is porous to it." 

George Eliot, Daniel Leronda, Book VI. 

The soul many times each day, without doing any 
other outward thing, looks through the body wherein 
it dwells. In the process of thus looking through 
its corporeal house, it inevitably tells more or less of 
what there is in itself. Men are accustomed to des- 
ignate the still mode in which it does so often each 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 227 

day communicate its thoughts, its emotions, and its 
feelings, by the name silent expression. Every per- 
son goes about disseminating influence, either good 
or bad, by means of the phases of his face, and 
especially by means of those of his eye. There is a 
kind of speech which is composed of bodily ele- 
ments, but not of bodily sounds ; and in it seeds are 
effectually conveyed to soil which is immortal. 
Consider the case of the little child that, during the 
entire day, is under the watchful eye of its mother ! 
Does not that mother, by the outlooking or silent 
expression of her soul over the tender, breathing 
object of her care, ceaselessly shed on the plastic 
soul of her little loved one influence, such as is fitted 
to give rise to traits that will be amiable or to traits 
that will be disagreeable ? Who would not answer 
this question affirmatively ? By reason of the law 
which is usually stated in the words, " Like begets 
its like," it is to be inferred that a look of impa- 
tience, often repeated over a child, will cause it to 
acquire an impatient disposition, and that a look of 
anger, often repeated over a child, will cause it to 
become either quick-tempered and fiery, or prone to 
sullenness and revenge. " The very handling of 
the nursery," says Bushnell, "is significant; and 
the petulance, the passion, the gentleness, the tran- 
quillity indicated by it are all reproduced in the 
child." It is safe to say that nearly all grown per- 
sons received the seeds out of which grew their 
dispositions in their infancy, and that those seeds 
were conveyed to their hearts, not in words and 
not in deeds, but in expressions of soul silently 
made over them by their mothers. Away back in 



228 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the unremembered days of thy helpless littleness, 
when thou didst daily draw nourishment from the 
bosom of her that bore thee, then it was that thy 
leading bent germinated and took root in thee ; for 
then it was that thy mother, chiefly by looking into 
thy face, sowed in thy nature the invisible kernel 
whence sprung that enduring offshoot. 

Believe me, the seed of a harvest great as destiny 
itself has, oftener than we know, been conveyed in 
a penetrating glance. Chaucer says : 

" For by my troth, I vow, and by this book, 
You may both heal and slay me with a look." 

And in one of Spenser's poems are the lines: 

" And mighty hands forget their manliness, 
Driven with the power of a heart-burning eye." 

Not too much is it to affirm, that wrong-doers have 
been turned into saints and saints into wrong-doers, 
by the influence flung forth by a soul, silently peer- 
ing out through its own chosen windows, the orbs 
of vision. Who has not read and re-read of the 
result of that look which Jesus gave to Peter, when 
the latter, after his series of base denials, appeared 
face to face before him whom he had so shamefully 
wronged ? There is reason for thinking that no 
look mightier than that has ever been given in this 
world. The thought, the feeling, nay, the seed, 
which it bore, was revolutionizing. Saint Luke 
narrates the incident thus : 

"And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter. And Peter 
remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said unto him, 
' Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice.' And Peter 
went out and wept bitterly," 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 229 

Oh, that sad, rebukiDg expression of the wondrous 
Master ! Silent though it was, there passed in it 
from hirn to Peter something that melted the heart 
of the latter, and that would have melted it even 
if it had been made of stone ! 

It is authentically related that a single look of 
John Fletcher, the excellent vicar of Madeley, so 
impressed a certain man who had shocked him by 
the use of profane language, as to occasion at length 
a complete change in that individual's manners and 
life. For a moment, the swearer was struck dumb 
by the look. After retiring from Fletcher's pres- 
ence, he went to sea. But, while voyaging over the 
fickle ocean and while traveling amid various scenes 
beyond it, the powerful meaning transmitted to him 
in the holy glance, continually and profoundly dis- 
turbed his soul. The words which had accompanied 
that silent expression were forgotten by him ; but 
he remembered, as if it were every day repeated to 
him with all its original vividness, the silent expres- 
sion itself. He settled in the State of Louisiana, and 
there, after becoming a good man, related how the 
influence conveyed to him in Fletcher's look had 
gone with him over the world, annoying him in all 
his sins, and how, from it, had finally sprung a moral 
transformation of his nature.* 

Instances can also be cited to show that in evil 
expressions of the soul which are silent, — in the 
noiseless outgiancings which are prompted by cor- 
rupt impulses, desires, or passions, — the seeds of 
results, correspondingly great, though of an opposite 

* See marginal note in Stevens' History of Methodism, Vol. II. 
p. 261. 



230 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTTLNE. 

character, may be borne to adjacent mental soil. 
One writer, describing that gifted but wicked little 
woman, Lola Montez, aptly represents her eyes as 
" masked batteries of passion." And who shall ever 
tell — who but the recording angel 9 — how many 
were deprived of the strength of their hearts, and 
how many were made to lose their hold on purity 
and virtue, by the influence which went forth — nay, 
which was shot forth — from that woman's beautiful, 
contaminating eyes, as they trembled and shone in 
their sockets, while with her restless spirit she was 
going her way in one clime and another? 

There are possibilities of silent expression which 
it is interesting to contemplate. May we not well 
muse, here, on some of Swedenborg's and on some 
of Schoberlein's teachings ? Souls, in another life 
(so the former tells us), instantly know, not only the 
character of another's mind, but also that of his 
faith. As soon as any spirit in that life comes to 
another, he perceives his thoughts and his affections 
— in short, all his present state, as if he had been 
ever so long with him. All that are there show by 
looks and gestures the acts of their will. There is 
an aura or sphere, surrounding each one, which im- 
mediately reveals his internal quality, and enables 
others who have at any time before known him, to 
recognize even at a distance his identity. The faces 
of all are effigies of their ideas and feelings. 

But observe a few lessons, much greater and finer, 
which are taught by that masterly theologian of 
Gottingen, Ludwig Schoberlein. The vital germ of 
a true spiritual body is formed in the soul during 
its stay on the earth. The natural fleshly body is 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 231 

simply the receptacle, the womb, in which this inte- 
rior form is invisibly generated and qualified, up to 
the hour when, the crude flesh falling away, it 
passes into the heavenly state, there to spring forth 
into its full beauty and actuality. It will be com- 
pleted in the "transfigured world," which is to be 
man's ultimate theater of action ; and, when com- 
pleted, it will be like the shining form wherein Jesus 
appeared to Peter, James, and John, on Mount Ta- 
bor. The peculiar traits of spiritual beauty which 
occasionally beam out from the persons of ripened 
believers, are actual reflexes of the transfigured cor- 
poreity which lies potentially within them. The con- 
summate body in which the soul will lead its high 
future life, after once entering fully into its destined 
resurrection-state, will be a body of light, a heavenly 
body. It will be imbued with the spiritual element, 
and therefore will be immortal. The fleshly and the 
psychic in man will be exalted into the pneumatic. 
On his outer features will be stamped the free har- 
mony of his soul with the divine Spirit originally 
inbreathed into him ; and the material elements of 
his form will be thoroughly pervaded and ethereal- 
ized by his habitual spirituality. His ever-enduring 
body will reveal and manifest to the universe the 
very finest shades of thought and sentiment existing 
in his soul. It will be such as to afford perfect com- 
munication between him and others. 



232 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



III. 

WORDS. 

" How forcible are right words ! " 

Book of Job, Chap. vi. 25. 

"A winged word hath stuck ineradicably in a million hearts, and 
envenomed every hour throughout their hard pulsations." 

Walter Savage Landor. 

Among the leading modes wherein influence is 
disseminated, is that universally familiar one which 
consists in the use of words. These, the world over, 
belong either to the former or to the latter of two 
great classes of syllabic forms, namely, those which 
are emitted from the mouth under the title of ut- 
tered or oral speech, and those which are formed on 
paper or any other material basis under the title of 
written or printed language. Words of the first- 
named class have been described as " mouthfuls of 
spoken wind," and words of the second-named 
class have been represented as " vessels in which 
thoughts ride at anchor." But applicable alike to 
the former and to the latter is the definition : Words 
are vehicles in which influence is conveyed from soul 
to soul. 

The invisible kernels which are contained in the 
terms of sentences audible, and of sentences visible, 
are of innumerable varieties ; and there result from 
them harvests large and small, bitter and sweet. 
That little word, No, has often carried a significa- 
tion which has made the living die ; and that little 



THE EVER -LIVING PRODUCE. 233 

word, Yes, has often carried an import which has 
made the dying live. Would you conceive what a 
weight of influence there may be in a monosyllable 
composed of no more than five letters ? Think, then, 
of the word ought ! Says Joseph Cook : 

" God is in that word ought, and therefore it outweighs all but 
God." 

Utterances, so far as their physical substance is 
concerned, are, it is true, only " mouthfuls of spoken 
wind," only effluxes of vocalized breath. But when 
considered in their relation to thought, to sentiment, 
to influence — then what are they ? Certainly they 
are, then, much more than is implied in any such 
description. They are bearers of meanings ; and 
those meanings are in their nature either pleasant or 
painful, either wholesome or pernicious. Every 
utterance, deliberately made by one person in the 
presence of another, conveys something born of a 
soul — mayhap something fitted to produce a pang 
of disappointment or a thrill of horror. A word 
may be an oral exhalation, which will be found to 
be cheeringly warm with love, or one which will 
be found to be chillingly cold with treachery. 
It may be an out-sent syllabified breath in which 
envy lives and lurks like venom beneath a ser- 
pent's fang, or one in which wrath seethes like hot 
steam fretting through a leaky conduit. Idle words 
do doubtless seem to many people to be empty words, 
which are doomed to drop quickly into nonentit}^. 
But they are not empty. Each one of them is the 
vagabond transporter of an unprofitable meaning. 
Carlyle fervidly exclaims : 



234 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

" Fool ! thinkest thou that because no Boswell is there with ass- 
skin and black-lead to note thy jargon, it therefore dies and is 
harmless? Nothing dies, nothing can die. No idlest word thou 
speakest but is a seed cast into Time, and grows through all 
Eternity ! " 

Could mortals neither speak nor write, they would 
live under the necessity of being only partially un- 
derstood, and would, perhaps, die with the inevitable 
prospect of being quickly forgotten. " Language," 
says Ben Jonson, " most shows a man." And 
among the things said by Charles the Fifth, is the 
suggestive declaration, " A man is just as many times 
a man as he has language with which to express 
himself." How effectually have a thousand authors, 
by the far-circulating pages which have borne abroad 
their ideas and convictions, their principles and sen- 
timents, been enabled to impress mankind with what 
appertained to their innermost being ! The dwellers 
in a hundred million homes can, to-day, see the feel- 
ings of David's heart and the thoughts of Paul's 
soul. The great penmen of past centuries are, by 
their works, now acting, now doing good 'or evil, 
now perpetuating their ideas, now making their 
power widely and deeply felt in the world. Milton 
says of books, " They do preserve, as in a vial, the 
purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect 
that bred them." And says Thackeray, " A man's 
books may not always speak the truth ; but they 
speak his mind in spite of himself." Shakespeare's 
famous writings will speak his mind till history shall 
end; and so will Dante's Divine Comedy speak his, 
for " the fiery life of it endures for evermore among 
men." 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 235 

But to make a book speak one's mind for ages, is 
to make it convey in its words one's influence for 
ages. It is well to reflect sometimes on the immense 
results, the outgrowths many-branched and massive, 
which, during the rolling years of by-gone eras, have 
sprung from the seeds put forth in the contents of 
poems, of chronicles, of biographies, of sciences, of 
philosophies, of sermons, of commentaries, of hym- 
nodies, and of the Bible. " No one who can read," 
says Dickens, " ever looks at a book even unopened 
on a shelf, like one who cannot." Not merely great 
harvests of enjoyment, but great harvests of thought, 
of energy, of strength, and of fervor have been reaped 
from the influence conveyed in the words of pub- 
lished pages. The martial odes of Tyrtseus, a Gre- 
cian bard, inspired the Spartan soldiers, and by so 
doing contributed largely to make them invincible 
in strife and struggle. Sir Phillip Sydney declares 
concerning the old English ballad of Chevy Chase, 
that he had never heard it without finding his heart 
" more moved than with a trumpet." Thomas 
Hood's Song of the Shirt gave a remarkable impulse 
to the endeavors which had been begun in England 
for the relief of poor and distressed needle-women. 
Wordsworth's Excursion and other poems brought 
into existence the taste which secured to his works 
permanent admiration and fame. That vigorous, 
magnificent, and sublime offspring of the genius of 
Bailey, the book entitled Festus, has been pro- 
nounced by Gilfillan " the chaos of a hundred poetic 
worlds." In George Eliot's story of Daniel Deronda 
Kate Meyrick is represented as speaking thus of 
Erckmann-Chatrian's Histoire d'un Conscrit: 



236 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

" It is a bit of history brought near us with a strong telescope. 
We can see the soldiers' faces : no, it is more than that — we can 
hear everything — we can almost hear their hearts beat." 

What productive vitality, what propagating force, 
must there be in the seeds contained in such a vol- 
ume ! When Byron's passionate poems went forth 
from the press, the influence which traveled in the 
vivid, fascinating words of them speedily produced 
immeasurable results. An outgrowth of feelings and 
tendencies, for the most part selfish and corrupt, 
grew, like germs starting under June showers, from 
that influence. Indeed, Byron may be said to have, 
by means of his wild voluptuous effusions, Byron- 
ized thousands of minds, both in the British domains 
and in the virgin lands of America. Says Macaulay, 
speaking of the 3 r oung men who eagerly perused the 
writings of that gifted young lord : 

" They bought pictures of him ; they treasured up the smallest 
relics of him ; they learned his poems by heart, and did their best 
to write like him, and to look like him. Many of them practiced 
at the glass in the hope of catching the curl of the upper lip and 
the scowl of the brow which appear in some of his portraits. A 
few discarded their neckcloths, in imitation of their great leader." 

The same author adds that many undergraduates 
and medical students drew from Bja-on's poetry " a 
system of ethics, compounded of misanthropy and 
voluptuousness — a system in which the two great 
commandments were, to hate your neighbor, and to 
love your neighbor's wife." It is painful to dwell 
on the case. Let us turn to another. 

John Flavell's little treatise, entitled Keeping the 
Heart, gave rise to results such as he himself, while 
engaged in composing it, doubtless never ventured 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 237 

to anticipate. The bookseller Boulter relates that 
there came one day into his store a gay gentleman, 
who inquired for play -books. He informed the cus- 
tomer that he had none, and then showed him that 
little production, written by Flavell, entreating him 
to read it, and assuring him that it would do him 
more good than such books as he was seeking. The 
gentleman, after noticing the title of the volume 
and glancing over several pages of it, exclaimed, 
" What a damnable fanatic was he who made this 
book ! " But the effort was continued, notwith- 
standing his profane outburst, to induce him to take 
the volume and peruse it. Finalty, he so far yielded 
to the persuasion brought to bear on him as to pur- 
chase the treatise. He emphatically affirmed, how- 
ever, that he should not read it. " What will } r ou 
do with it, then?" asked the tradesman. "I will 
tear and burn and send it to the devil," answered 
the purchaser. " If so," said the bookseller, " }^ou 
shall not have it." The individual, after being 
again plied with expostulatory words, promised to 
peruse the work ; and Mr. Boulter pledged himself 
to return to him, in case of his disliking its contents, 
the money he had paid for it. A month later, the 
man reentered the store, and said : 

" Sir, I most heartily thank you for putting this book into my 
hands ; I bless God that you were moved to do it ; it has saved 
my soul. Blessed be God that ever I came into your shop." 

He then bought a hundred copies of that treatise 
for free distribution.* 

* The incident is narrated in the Presbyterian magazine, Ow 
Monthly, for October, 1873. 



238 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

A good book is defined by Milton as " the pre- 
cious life-blood of a master-spirit embalmed and 
treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life." 
Applicable is this definition to his own Paradise 
Lost, and to Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and to 
Johnson's Rasselas, and to Butler's Analogy, and to 
Chalmers' Astronomical Discourses, The " life be- 
yond life," which is secured by such books, is the 
continuance of influence inimitably beyond the end 
of that little life which Shakespeare describes as 
"rounded with a sleep." They enable their authors 
to be, for an indefinite number of years, teachers, 
reprovers, comforters, guides, inspirers, reformers; 
and they do this by reason that the words in them 
have nuclei, which continue from epoch to epoch 
alive and productive. Why is Montaigne's influ- 
ence, in all these years, an ever-multiplying produce 
in civilized nations? John Sterling tells why: 
Because he left a mantle behind him, not only in- 
scribed as are the magic garments of romance with 
many strange characters, but showing the familiar 
folds and twists of the short and stout-bodied old 
Gascon ; in sharp light, and with endlessly daring 
strokes, he painted himself, as the one great cer- 
tainty in a world of doubt ; himself, a living being, 
a person, a man, bright-shining, like an enchanted 
head ; a human image of brassy flame in Eem- 
brandt's wizard cave of blackness. Emerson, also, 
tells why : "Cut these words [he means the words 
of Montaigne's books], and they would bleed; they 
are vascular and alive." 

Ruskin says : 



THE eVer-living peoduce. 239 

"If you read ten pages of a good book, letter by letter, — that 
is to say, with real accuracy, — you are for evermore, in some 
measure, an educated person." 

In another place, he remarks : 

"No book is worth anything which is not worth much; nor is it 
serviceable, until it has been read and re-read, and loved, and 
loved again, and marked, so that you can refer to the passages you 
want in it, as a soldier can seize the weapon he needs in an ar- 
mory, or a housewife bring the spice she needs from her store." * 

Attend thus to any worthy volume, and, though 
its contents be a thousand or several thousand years 
old, you will feel its author's influence germinating 
in you. The writings of Confucius have made him 
potently live in the world, since his burial, for more 
than twenty-three centuries. Longfellow sings : 

" I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For so swift it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it, in its flight. 

"I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
Eor who has sight so keen and strong 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

"Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found in the heart of a friend." 

Could the noble author of these lines, a hundred 
years after his decease, return to America, he would 
not fail to find many of his songs still living, fresh 
as sprouting seed-grain, in human hearts. Thus 

* See his work, entitled Sesame and Lilies, pp 21 and 49. 



240 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

live, to-day, a myriad verses of Homer ; thus live 
unnumbered sayings of Shakespeare — him whom 
Emerson calls 4t the one unparalleled mind;" and 
thus live the sentences, the words — who shall tell 
how many — comprised in the hallowed writings of 
the inspired " shepherds, fishermen, and homeless 
wanderers" of the old ages of faith. 

In this study of syllabic forms considered as ve- 
hicles of influence, some meditation is due in rela- 
tion to those important seed-bearers, the utterances 
which are produced in conversation. Persons are ele- 
vated and persons are debased by meanings conveyed 
in talk. Historians relate that Cleomenes, the Spar- 
tan king, was once visited by Aristagoras of Miletus, 
who hoped to induce him to join the Ionians in an 
expedition against the Persians. Cleomenes asked 
him how far it was from the Ionian Sea to Susa, the 
Persian metropolis ; and, being told that it was a 
three months' journey, he at once declined the prop- 
osition and ordered Aristagoras to quit the city be- 
fore sunset. But the latter followed him to his 
house, plying him with eloquent and enticing per- 
suasions, which he enforced with large offers of 
wealth. The daughter of the king, a child nine 
years old, perceiving the influence put forth by that 
zealous visitor in his well-chosen words, cried out, 
." Fly, father, or this stranger will corrupt you ! " 
And her advice was not disregarded. How many 
have been aroused and stimulated, how many have 
been soothed and comforted, how many have been 
distressed and disheartened, and how many have 
been piqued and exasperated, by what passed to 
their souls in time of conversational intercourse ! 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 241 

Bulwer states that it was the custom of the cele- 
brated artist, Sir Godfrey Kneller, when he was 
executing a person's portrait, to say to him, " Praise 
me, sir, praise me ! How can I throw any animation 
into your face, if you do not choose to animate me?" 
There have been ten thousand men — some of them 
soldiers in battle, some of them sailors contending 
with the elements at sea, and some of them trav- 
elers moiling across desert plains — who have known 
as well as that painter knew, what a harvest of ani- 
mation can spring from the influence transmitted in 
familiarly spoken words. If one can properly say 
(in the language of Tennyson), 

"lama part of all that I hare met," 

then much more properly can he say, " I am a part 
of all with whom I have talked." The Methodist 
founder, Wesley, seems to have had some such truth 
in his mind, when he resolved, at Oxford Univer- 
sity, " to have no companions by chance, but by 
choice, and to choose only such as would help him 
on his way to heaven." 

Among the remarkable results which have fol- 
lowed conversation, Addison mentions the uprising, 
at different epochs, of notable authors in groups, 
comprising respectively " men of great genius in the 
same way of writing." For example, there was the 
group that arose in Greece, near the tim© of Soc- 
rates ; the group that arose at Rome in the reign of 
Augustus ; and the group that arose in France in 
the age of Louis XIV. " I cannot think," says 
Addison, "that Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Boileau, 
La Fontaine, Bruyere, Bossu [Bossuet], or the Da- 
16 



242 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ciers, would have written so well as they have done, 
had they not been friends and contemporaries." 

The results of influence conveyed in words given 
from the mouths of public speakers, will next be 
considered. Among such results may be mentioned 
arousals and excitements, alterations and transfor- 
mations, which have been well entitled to be called 
wonders in the world. It was on the occasion of a 
notable speech made by the Greek advocate, Callis- 
tratus, that Demosthenes became fired with the am- 
bition to excel in oratory. The latter was then a 
youthful pupil, and his master, by reason of being 
acquainted with the officers at court, had succeeded 
in securing for him a seat where, without being 
seen, he could hear the pleadings. The success of 
that eminent advocate was such as to win for him 
tributes of the highest admiration. Plutarch, al- 
luding to the feelings produced at that time in 
young Demosthenes, says that when he saw with 
what distinction Callistratus was conducted home 
and complimented by the people, he " was struck 
still more with the power of that commanding elo- 
quence which could carry all before it," and that, 
immediately bidding adieu to the customary studies 
pursued by youths and the usual exercises practiced 
by them, he applied himself with great assiduity 
to declaiming, in hope of being one day numbered 
among orators. 

Bridaine. a distinguished pulpit orator of France, 
once closed a sermon, the subject of which was 
Eternity, by exclaiming, three times in succession, 
"O eternity!" Each time the utterance went 
from his lips, he concentrated in it all the energy of 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 243 

his impassioned soul ; and from the seed which it 
carried to his audience there instantly grew up a 
vast and solemn outgrowth. The spell-bound lis- 
teners were moved to tears, and many of them were 
made to become, in a sense in which they had never 
been before, penitentially humble. The deliverance 
of John Owen from a wasting religious melancholy 
was ascribed by him to a sermon which he heard 
from a stranger, — a man whose name and place of 
abode he was never able to ascertain. He declared 
that it seemed to him in that case as if a spirit from 
a land of mysteries had touched him, and then 
straightway vanished into heaven. On the eighth 
day of July, 1741, Jonathan Edwards preached a 
sermon at Enfield, in the State of Connecticut, in 
the words of which went forth meanings, whence 
sprang a far-extending spiritual movement that had, 
it is supposed, for its fruit the conversion of thirty 
thousand souls. His text was the thirty-fifth verse 
of the thirty-second chapter of Deuteronomy : 

" Their foot shall slide in due time." 

At one moment during the delivery of the dis- 
course, some of the auditors were so thrilled and 
so perturbed by what was conveyed in his utter- 
ances, that they seized hold of the pillars and the 
braces of the meeting-house, as if they felt that 
their feet were actually sliding downward to the 
brink of ruin. 

There is an authentic account of a man who, 
when he was a hundred years old, betook himself 
from a prayerless to a devout life, in consequence of 
the influence contained in some words remembered 



244 * THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

by him as having fallen from the lips of John Fla- 
vell, eiglny-five years before.* The venerable min- 
ister had been discoursing on the passage : 

"If any man lore not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anath- 
ema maranatha." 

He had closed his sermon, and was in the act of 
pronouncing the benediction, when, suddenly paus- 
ing, he said, with a tone of yearning sorrow, "How 
can I bless this whole assembly, when I know that 
every one in it who loveth not the Lord Jesus Christ 
is anathema maranatha ? " And, so long afterward, 
he who at the age of fifteen years heard that ser- 
mon and those parting words, and who, without 
having acquired any religious habit, had attained a 
hoary maturity, while sitting one day in his field in 
the town of Micldleborough, Massachusetts, recalled 
the scene, the text, and especially that sad, piteous 
utterance of the saintly preacher at the moment of 
the dismission of his congregation ; and great was the 
change which followed ! The slumber of his con- 
science was broken ; his heart, though hardened by 
the sins of a century, was melted to contrition ; and, 
entering on a course of pious experience and action, 
he became as faithful an exponent of Christianity as 
any one of those that had, half a lifetime earlier 
than he, made a holy profession. 

What American has not read of the extraordinary 
result which was produced by the influence thrown 
out by Fisher Ames, when, at the close of the Rev- 

* See the work written by Professor Park, of Andover, under 
the title of The Preacher and Pastor. To the same volume I owe 
the substance of one or two of the preceding accounts. 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 245 

olution, he spoke in the house of representatives at 
Philadelphia on the subject of the British treaty ap- 
propriations ? His countenance has been described 
as having been, on that occasion, irradiated with 
more than mortal fires, and the intonations of his 
voice as having been marked with more than mortal 
sweetness. From his lips (so relates one who heard 
him*) there fell argument, remonstrance, entreaty, 
persuasion, terror, and warning, at one moment like 
music, and at another moment like thunder. As he 
pleaded for his country, he seemed to be Patriotism 
in human form. And, from what his fine and 
powerful soul sent forth in the varied forms that 
were the constituents of his transcendent oratory, 
sprang products resembling the fabled workings of 
enchantment. The senses of the hearers were ren- 
dered unsusceptible toward all objects but himself; 
and, so long as he kept the floor, no person had the 
slightest consciousness of the lapse of time. When 
he resumed his seat, the great assembly — which 
included the very flower of Philadelphia — seemed 
to awaken as from a dream of delight. Such was 
the state of admiration and fascination into which 
all present had been brought, that not any one had 
the proper command of his faculties. Perceiving 
this to be the case, a prominent member of the 
opposition moved for an adjournment, in order that 
the vote of the house might not be taken till the 
overwhelming feeling excited by the influence of 
the orator had cooled. 

* Caldwell. See his article on Fisher Ames, in the Edinburgh 
Fncyclopcedia, American edition. 



246 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



IV. 

DEEDS. 

"Halters and racks cannot express from thee 
More than thy deeds." Ben Jonson. 

" Deeds are greater than words. Deeds have such a life — 
mute but undeniable — and grow as living trees and fruit-trees 
do; they people the vacuity of time and make it green and 
worthy." Carltle. 

Influence, though notably conveyed in looks and 
words, is yet more notably conveyed in what are 
called deeds. Compared with these, words, notwith- 
standing their unmistakable importance, are uncer- 
tain and fleeting. Indeed, words, compared even 
with the corporeal phases which are the components 
of silent expression, have been held by some eminent 
thinkers to be inferior to the latter. Speech has 
been represented as silvern, but silence as golden : 
the one has been pronounced human, the other 
divine. Whether there is or is not sufficient ground 
for the opinion thus indicated, is a question which 
it is not convenient here to attempt to settle. Clear 
enough, however, is it that speech carries no such 
weight of import as that which is borne by deeds — 
that things which are said are not such effective 
vehicles of meaning as are things which are done. 
Actions, performances, achievements, works — these 
are specially significant bearers of the vital and pro- 
lific produce of soul and character. Mortals, as they 
go about in the world, go continually, as in a field, 
sowing. They sow influence ; and they sow it in no 



THE EVER-LIVING PEODUCE. 247 

mode quite as decisively as in that one which con- 
sists in the doing of deeds. Every act of kindness 
or of unkindness, of courage or of cowardice, of 
virtue or of vice, is a casting forth of germinant 
thought, emotion, or feeling. u All work," says 
CarLvle, " is a seed sown ; it grows and spreads, and 
sows itself anew, and so in endless palingenesia lives 
and works." The Revelator suggests much when, 
referring to those who " die in the Lord," he makes 
the averment that " their works do follow them." 
Go and drop a work, a deed, along some frequented 
way where you shall be "seen of men," and, little 
though it may be, you will, if after the lapse of a 
few moments you return to the spot, find that out 
of it has come forth a wholesome or a baneful out- 
growth ; you will discover that to some one it has 
proved a source of benefit or of injury, of happi- 
ness or of unhappiness. Where is he who did never 
from a simple yet highly-graceful act of a beautiful 
female catch that from which sprang up on his part 
a perennial and ever-sweet harvest ? Where is he 
who, at no time in his life, has mused on some lovely 
one that, like a heavenly shape, had flitted by him, 
and been ready the while to say in language such as 
that of Keats, 

" Had I ever seen her from an arbor take 
A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, 
And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake?" 

Good deeds, wherever they are wrought, are bless- 
ings. They clothe the desert places of society with 
a welcome exuberance. Had none ever wisely 
worked, to what end would science, would art, have 



248 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

come ? Had none ever wisely fought, to what end 
would liberty have come ? Had hearts, great and 
honest, never made lion-like demonstrations for 
righteousness' sake, what would have been the his- 
tory of justice ? — what the history of truth ? Says 
Victor Hugo, " The honesty of a great heart con- 
densed in justice and truth, is annihilating." But 
bad deeds, wherever they are wrought, are curses. 
Hardly true would it be to say that, if little they 
are little curses, and if great they are great curses ; 
for they are liable to prove great curses even when 
they are little. A man was once sent to prison for 
changing a 7 to a 9. The influence in bad deeds so 
lives and so multiplies, as to make them the origin- 
marks of continuous lineage-lines of curses. For 
(to use the words of Schiller) "propagating still, it 
brings forth evil." It results, again and again, in 
such things as contention, bitterness, animosity, con- 
fusion, sorrow. Sometimes, 'tis like the fabled winds 
which, bound up in sacks, King iEolus presented to 
Ulysses, and which, having been cut loose at sea 
from their receptacles by the hands of thievish gold- 
seekers, speedily gave rise to a harvest of direful 
tempests. 

The mass of mortals do but rarely consider how 
much they are indebted to the deeds of a compara- 
tively few excellent persons for all the valuable 
institutions of the land, all the wholesome laws of 
the state, all the beneficial regulations appertaining to 
civility and decorum, and for all political, social, moral, 
and religious reforms. Every public library, every 
free reading-room, every Sunda} x -school, every acad- 
emy, every college, every Christian church, is a plant 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 249 

which has grown from influence conveyed chiefly in 
work earnestly done by some minority of high- 
souled persons cooperating with calm determination 
for the welfare of themselves, of their neighbors, and 
of mankind in general. 



V. 

PARTICULAR ILLUSTRATIONS OF SOWING AND 
REAPING IN LIFE. 

" Life's field will yield as we make it, 
A harvest of thorns or of flowers." 

Alice Caey. 

"And with each face thou sawest the shadow on each, 
Seeing as men sow men reap." 

Swinbuene, Elegy on Baudelaire. 

Between seed-dissemination and its results in the 
agricultural or horticultural sphere, and seed-dissemi- 
nation and its results in any higher sphere, — for 
example, in that known as the intellectual, the social, 
the political, or the spiritual, — there may be traced 
resemblances, each of which will afford an important 
and valuable lesson. In considering them, one can 
hardly fail to derive instruction, not only concerning 
the leading modes wherein influence is dispensed, but 
also concerning many a subordinate mode wherein 
that invisible, ever-multiplying produce is sown. 
But, before attending to the analogical points, 
glance, reader, at a single striking dissimilarity. A 
point this is which will be found to be, in quite as 
high a degree as any one of those, instructively sug- 
gestive. 



250 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Familiar to all mortals is the fact, that when phys- 
ical seeds have been scattered or planted by the 
farmer or hy the gardener, a measure of time, which, 
though comparatively not great, is not inconsidera- 
ble, must elapse before the germs of those seeds can 
become mature and fruit-bearing outgrowths. Now, 
in cases in which there has been a dissemination of 
influence, it is certain that, ordinarily, no such neces- 
sity is discovered to exist. From thoughts and feel- 
ings sown in looks, words, deeds, there may be ex- 
pected to start forth germs which, with a remarkable 
and sometimes with an amazing quickness, will attain 
full development. In how short a time can one pro- 
duce difficulty where all is smooth ! gloomy dissatis- 
faction where there is perfect content ! troublesome 
doubt where there is peaceful faith ! cold distrust 
where there is warm confidence ! By uttering one 
arrowy, caustic word, a person can instantly create 
a heart-wound that will remain unhealed for years, 
or a bitter prejudice that will abide with undimin- 
ished strength till the overmastering might of death 
shall quell it. If one should sow the seed of anger 
in a fellow-being who is the possessor of an iras- 
cible disposition, the latter would in a moment 
show, in 

" The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind," 

that something prodigious and frightful has resulted. 
If one should inflict cruelty on another, the kernel 
which, in so doing, he would plant, would in a mo- 
ment give rise to a full-grown and persistent hate. 
And if one should go forth, under the cover of dark- 
ness, and place against his neighbor's house a lighted 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 251 

match, and leave the same secretly burning amid 
combustible materials, surely not many moments 
would need to elapse before the little fire-kernel 
there planted would produce a terrific fire-harvest. 
Is it not true that wanton or criminal influence, 
whenever it is actually conveyed to a soil where 
nothing exists to hinder its germination, speedily 
gives rise to positive and clearly-distinguishable 
results ? A thousand iniquitous acts can readily be 
conceived, any one of which would as promptly 
yield an appalling outgrowth, as would a diminutive 
blaze deposited in contact with a dry, crisp building, 
in the night. 

How soon could something occur that would im- 
poverish him who is recognized as affluent ! Plow 
soon could there come to pass an event that would 
fill with grief him who is numbered among the 
happy ! In less than an hour, such an agony could 
spring up in the bosom, as would, before the next 
day's dawn, make one's hair turn gray. Dickens, 
in his stor} T entitled Our Mutual Friend, sa} r s it has 
been written of persons " who have passed through 
a terrible strait, or who in self-preservation have 
killed a defenseless fellow-creature, that the record 
thereof never faded from their countenances until 
they died." 

Yonder is one who is fascinatingly fair. Does she 
know that, in the rays of her radiant face, she sends 
out seeds from which there are liable suddenly to 
arise in souls, emotions of an inexpressible immen- 
sity and power ? A devout female teacher of a con- 
templative tendency, tells in the following language 



252 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the story of what grew up in her mind as she looked 
on a certain fine countenance : 

" I want to speak of a face I have seen lately which has made a 
deep impression on me. It is not the face of one of God's suffer- 
ing saints, which sometimes, through long and patient waiting, 
attains to a beauty almost heavenly. But it is that of a strong 
young woman, ruddy with health, and beautiful only because of 
the soul you see shining from it. I have looked upon this face at 
times, and have said to myself, ' That soul has just come from 
asking some great thing of the Lord, and is waiting, fully expect- 
ing to receive what it has asked.' The faith and love of the soul 
shine clearly through the face. There is an energy which seems 
to say, ' Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business? ' 
There is a happiness there, which reminds one of the promise, 
'Your joy no man taketh from you.' If I knew nothing of the 
life which so fully carries out the promise of this face, I think it 
would do me good just to look upon it as its owner goes out and in 
among us. I have thought more of the mission our Father per- 
mits our faces to perform for Him in this world, and have wished 
there were more like this. Thank God for beautiful faces ! Truly 
they are ' goodly to look to.' " * 

And now let us give attention to the resemblances 
spoken of above. It is taught by naturalists that 
vegetable seeds are, in some cases, sown, by being 
made to pass from a foreign land to the place where 
they germinate. They are, perhaps, borne thereto 
across intervening waters ; or, peradventure, they 
are caused to travel thereto by way of the atmos- 
phere. " When a volcanic island," says Sir W. 
Thomson, "springs up from the sea, and after a 
few years is found clothed with vegetation, we do 
not hesitate to assume that seed has been wafted to 
it through the air, or floated to it on rafts." Now, 
sometimes influence analogously undergoes a process 

* Copied from the columns of that vigorous religious newspaper, 
The Advance (Chicago). 



THE EVEE-LIVIKG PEODUCE. 253 

of transference from the place of its origin to the 
place of its germination. There comes not rarely 
from a foreign country the vital nucleus whence 
springs up a custom, an institution, a creed, or even 
a whole governmental system. The seed of the 
Roman empire came with iEneas from the distant 
land of Troy, and was planted by him on the 
banks of the Tiber. The seed of the republic of 
the United States had its origin in the Old World, 
and it came to the New with the sturdy Puritans 
who crossed the Atlantic in the hulk of the May- 
flower. The seed of the doctrine of freedom of 
opinion and conscience traversed the ocean in the 
keeping of Roger Williams. He sought to make it 
vegetate at Salem, Massachusetts ; but his en- 
deavors toward that end proved unsuccessful. He 
then carefully bore it through the Indian-haunted 
forests to a certain pleasant, uninhabited spot, 
which he chose to designate by the name Prov- 
idence, and which is now the seat of the metropolis 
of Rhode Island. There he renewed his efforts to 
bring to pass from it a harvest. He prayerfully 
planted it. He tenderly nursed it. With his tears 
he often watered it. By day and by night, through 
summer heats and winter rigors, he patiently 
guarded and shielded it. And the result was, that 
it shot forth a vigorous germ, fastened itself firmly 
by a root which no vicissitudes of the earth could 
weaken, and produced a civil constitution, which 
became a model for all industrious and order-loving 
peoples beneath the sky. 

The seed from which grew up that political bohun- 
upas tree known as American slavery, was trans- 



254 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

f erred from a foreign shore to the soil where it gave 
forth its venomous germ. Two hundred and fifty- 
eight years ago, a Dutch man-of-war, having on board 
twenty negroes that were for sale, entered the James 
River, and sailed up its waters toward what is now 
the city of Richmond. The men who were inter- 
ested in the cargo of the incoming vessel loved 
money just as strongly as many men of the present 
utilitarian day love it; and their avarice led them 
to deliver those negroes to Virginia planters for a 
price. Then it was there was lodged in its warm 
sprouting-place the kernel whence was developed a 
hideous result, a monstrous outgrowth. From the 
embryo tic slavery which was floated over to Vir- 
ginia in that Dutch ship, sprang the gigantic slavery 
system which could only be removed amid tumults 
of sanguinary belligerence, and the removal of 
which, a few years after the middle of the nine- 
teenth century, cost the nation wherein the huge 
plant had come to maturity pangs unutterable, and 
blood enough to tinge all her acres. 

Again, some vegetable seeds are sown in this 
singular mode : They are provided with little hooks 
whereby they are enabled to become attached to 
passing objects ; and by the objects on which they 
lay hold they are borne abroad and dispersed. 
And, in like manner, influence is often sown. In- 
deed, the dissemination of thought by means of 
those passing objects, the newspaper-sheet, the let- 
ter-sheet, and the tract-leaf, is one of the com- 
monest facts appertaining to modern life. To take 
a newspaper is to take an instrument to which cling 
the current thoughts of the age. Lord Brougham 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 255 

once declared that, even from a single page of news- 
paper advertisements, comprising the " wants" of a 
country, he would engage to give a sketch of the 
current civilization of the period. And what may 
not be said of letters — those seed-bearing instru- 
ments which pass along the mail-routes, inside white 
or brown envelopes? But for this class of missives 
how unfortunate would people be ! They are ve- 
hicles that carry, as no others can do, the thoughts 
of persons to persons who are at a distance from 
them. Kindness, love, anxiety, joy, grief, gratitude, 
mirth, sympathy, — each of these can be made to 
travel a thousand miles on the ruled lines of a letter- 
sheet. Think what wonclerfulness there is in a fact 
so common! One's ideas, one's feelings, can be 
transferred to a page of writing-paper, and that 
epistolar}^ page can be put into a rectangular wrap- 
page, and, at the expense of three cents, be con- 
veyed to some soul half the width of a continent 
away ! Thus facts and truths of importance are 
communicated by the dweller in one part of a coun- 
try to the dweller in another part of it. Thus 
friends and kindred are enabled to give comfort and 
pleasure to one another, at frequent intervals, 
though they are far apart. It was Washington Ir- 
ving who expressed the fancy, that among the 
felicities of Heaven will be the delight experienced 
in receiving letters at every mail, and never being 
obliged to answer them. 

One may well meditate for a moment or two, also, 
on those little carriers of influence which are usually 
called tracts. To many people these seem to be in- 
significant tilings — mere evanescent waifs, left to 



256 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

perish in the frequented places of the world. But 
certain it is that, by means of them, seeds, which 
can germinate only in souls, and which, if they do 
once germinate, will give rise to new reflections 
and perhaps to new determinations, are circulated — 
nay, are often borne where they are received into 
fertile soil. When Thomas Coke, that indefatigable 
missionary w r ho crossed the Atlantic nineteen times, 
was prosecuting his labors as a Wesleyan pioneer 
preacher in America, he attempted to ford a certain 
river, but, finding the current too strong, was 
obliged, in order to save himself from drowning, to 
let his beast go, and to seize hold of the boughs 
of a tree. A woman, discovering him in his per- 
ilous plight, sent men to rescue him. She, also, 
with much kindness, entertained him at her house. 
On setting out to resume his travels, he placed a 
religious tract in her hand. Five years afterward, 
a young man met him, and, having made himself 
known to him, gave him information of the results 
which had sprung from the influence contained in 
the words of that tract. The woman to whom it 
was presented drew into her soul, as she read it, 
the seed of " that change of mental poise which 
has been fitly named conversion." She placed it 
in the hands of her children, and several of them 
(the 3^oung man who gave the information being- 
one of the number) underwent a change similar to 
that whereof she had been the subject. She lent 
it to her neighbors, and many of them experienced 
a like alteration of heart and bent. And among 
the many products which grew from the spiritual 
kernels received from that tract, was the conspic- 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 257 

uous one which consisted in a flourishing religious 
society. 

And again : some vegetable seeds are disseminated 
by the sudden opening or bursting of the sack or 
envelope wherein they are enfolded. ' Thus, to cite 
a single example, the seeds of the plant which is 
called the English broom, are scattered. The pods 
crack open, and the effect of the concussion inci- 
dent to the breaking of them is, that their contents 
are thrown into the air, and strewn over the ground. 
Now, often, in like manner, is the influence cast 
forth from which spring up memorable national 
events, noteworthy modifications of social relations, 
or grave changes on the part of particular individ- 
uals. What an outburst there was of invisible, 
quick-propagating seed, when Socrates was put to 
death at Athens! when Julius Caesar was stabbed in 
the senate-hall at Rome ! when Jesus the Christ was 
crucified on a hill outside Jerusalem ! when Gobet, 
the archbishop of Paris, renounced before the Na- 
tional Convention of France the Christian religion, 
and there was enacted the decree that thenceforth 
the only French deities should be liberty, equality, 
and reason ! 

On the third day of March, 1770, some British 
troops under the command of one Captain Preston 
were drawn up in battle-array near the custom- 
house in Boston, against a crowd of towns-people, 
who, being agitated on account of unjust taxation, 
had there gathered. Henry Knox, a prominent cit- 
izen, catching hold of Captain Preston's arm, said, 
" For heaven's sake, sir, take heed what you do, or 
there will be bloodshed." "Stand aside," haughtily 
17 



258 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

answered the officer ; "do not interfere, sir. Leave 
me to manage the affair." A few minutes later, a 
volley of musket-shots smote the lingering throng 
of Americans, and eleven of them lay bleeding in 
the street. In the deadly gush from those soldiers' 
guns was given forth the seed of the American 
Revolution. " Blood," says Hawthorne, "was 
streaming upon the snow; and that purple stain, in 
the midst of King Street, though it melted away in 
the next day's sun, was never forgotten nor forgiven 
by the people." 

The great internecine war, which, during the four 
melancholy years that ended with the spring of 
1865, so bitterly convulsed the States of our Re- 
public, and so distressfully shook the world, sprang 
from a seed which was sown with a startling sud- 
denness. For that seed was thrown out on the 
morning of the twelfth day of April, 1861, when the 
men of the South fired, in Charleston harbor, their 
first shot at that symbol of the Federal government, 
Fort Sumter. The act of violence then performed 
carried in it the prolific influence whence strife and 
struggle, such as had never before been witnessed in 
any land of the earth, naturally resulted. 

In the various spheres of common life, there do 
frequently occur instances in which the kernel of 
some serious outcome is sown explosively, sown by 
the concussion of rashness. Deeds, wrought in mo- 
ments of wild excitement or of headstrong impru- 
dence, often yield in every community, every neigh- 
borhood, sad confusions and perturbations. Not 
rarely does it happen that, in a fit of unrestrained 
anger, one lets fly the seed of a baleful trouble 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 259 

either to himself or to another. From history's 
beginning till now there have been persons — and 
never have they been few — who, by reason of 
giving way to freakish impulse or to intense passion, 
betook themselves to a course of extreme action, 
the results of which they were destined, to their 
latest day, miserably to deplore. Among such must 
be numbered Cain, who had to lament the murder 
of his brother ; Esau, who had to weep on account 
of the forfeiture of his birthright ; David, who had 
to go sighing all his years over his foul crime against 
the hero Uriah ; Judas, who had to bewail, with a 
sorrow which crazed him, his betrayal of the Re- 
deemer ; Charles the Ninth, who had to be preyed 
upon by a bewildering remorse because of his order 
for the massacre of St. Bartholomew's night ; and 
Aaron Burr, who had to bemoan as long as he lived 
his taking-off of the grand and spotless Hamilton. 

Some mortals seem to be ever casting forth such 
influence as is adapted only to produce the direful 
vegetation which consists in moral evil. Of this 
class was the comely but debased man whom the 
present writer did once, while tarrying at a western 
inn, find engaged in teaching an innocent little girl 
that was sitting on his knee, how to swear profanely, 
just as he did ! It was a scene fitted to suggest the 
words of Claudian : 

" What a strange sporting cruelty is this ! " 

They who, with a devil-like hardihood, indulge ha- 
bitually in wicked kinds of seed-sowing, scruple not 
to adopt almost any mode, manner, or means, in 



260 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

which or by which the}* can facilitate the out- 
throwing of their dreadful mental produce. And 
what is here stated may be taken as a general ex- 
planation of much that it is painfully perplexing to 
contemplate. Times there, are when persons are 
surprised to find growing up in one on whose part 
they have been wont to behold only expressions of 
goodness and purity, some strange, unholy thought 
or feeling ; and they are unable precisely to account 
for the existence of the same in that one's soul. 
There is a pleasant home yonder, and in it is a prat- 
tling child. Faithfully are its parents endeavoring 
to keep it aloof from every source of pernicious in- 
fluence. The care they are daily and hourly exer- 
cising over it is patient, thoughtful, and wise. But 
the time will come when they will be shocked to 
know that their sweet-voiced boy or girl has become 
the possessor of some mean and degrading concep- 
tion, idea, desire, purpose, or belief; and, though they 
earnestly try, they will in all likelihood try in vain, 
to ascertain exactly how the seed of the corrupt out- 
growth found its way into their child's fresh and tender 
nature. All cases answering to this description are 
problems. And why ? Simply because the ways and 
the means are endlessly varied, wherein and where- 
by human souls, in their juvenile days, can be made 
to receive the seed of moral evil. It is to be believed 
that an individual can, without limit, effect changes 
in his mien, his bearing, and his behavior, each of 
which shall somehow serve to assist him in express- 
ing his thoughts and feelings. If, therefore, he is 
bad, it is possible for him to have recourse to any 
number of methods and instruments, large and small, 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 261 

in effecting the dissemination of his baneful influ- 
ence. Solomon, describing an exemplifier of vicious 
waywardness, says : 

"A naughty person, a wicked man, walketh with a froward 
mouth. He winketh with his eyes, he speaketh with his feet, he 
teacheth with his fingers; frowardness.is in his heart, he deviseth 
mischief continually; he soweth discord." 

And here, waiting not to interpose anything transi- 
tional, I quote the weighty remark made by Bush- 
nell : 

"Many have gone so far, and not without show at least of rea- 
son, as to maintain that the look or expression, and even the very 
features of children, are often changed by exclusive intercourse 
with nurses and attendants." 

Parents, who have little sons or little daughters, 
would do well should they often, with deep serious- 
ness, contemplate those ancient words and these 
modern ones. 

" He soweth discord." How suggestive a decla- 
ration is this ! No better definition can, perhaps, be 
given of a willful sinner, than that which consists in 
representing him as a discord-sower. He who com- 
mits a sin throws upon some soil the seed of some 
deplorable inharmony. All the rancorous commo- 
tions, all the woful derangements, which exist 
within the bounds of the universe, are attributable 
to kernels once put forth in sins. I direct thee, 
reader, to a case, the story of which is as old as the 
Hebrew language. I ask thee to take a look with 
thy mind at the symbolic sin of the ages. In one 
of the earliest chapters of the Bible is a vivid delin- 
eation of a primeval seat of blissful quiet and order. 
It is described as a garden, the name of which was 



262 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Eden. It is pictured as the paradise wherein were 
placed the first man and the first woman of the 
world. According to the olden story, four rivers of 
pure and limpid water refreshed it. Trees of vari- 
ous species, pleasant to the sight and abounding 
with fruits good for food, grew there. In the midst 
of the place was a tree more precious than the 
others ; for it was one that yielded fruit fitted end- 
lessly to renew human youth and life. The sky (so 
men naturally infer from the long-honored account) 
bent lovingly over that scene of wholesome verdure 
and sweet thrift. No miasmatic atoms floated in the 
atmosphere of the Eden garden. No unwelcome 
odors were caught from the wings of its winds. 
At morning, the sun propitiously arose, and with a 
soft, attractive luster, ascended along his ethereal 
course to the zenith ; and at evening, 

... " Glowed the firmament 
With living sapphires. Hesperus that led 
The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw." 

In that delightful spot (so readers gather from the 
venerated pages of the primitive narrative), the 
first husband and the first wife unitedly plied their 
willing hands to the inviting tasks of the golden 
days. There they congenially communed, wor- 
shiped, rejoiced. The supplies of their wants were 
complete. Their cup of happiness was full. 

" Perfection crowned with wondrous store, 
And peace and plenty smiled around ; 
They felt no grief, they knew no shame, 
But tasted heaven on earthly ground." 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 263 

The time came, however, when an appalling 
change (I speak according to the record) passed 
over that pristine seat of humanity. The favored 
pair were suddenly expelled from the garden. A 
flaming sword gleamed and glared at them in the 
maddened sunlight. Their whole vista was over- 
cast with a threatening gloom ; and they were 
ashamed, were confused, were terror-stricken. On 
their part there had come to exist a guilty proneness 
to concealment, a tendency to slink away into some 
obscure corner, and hide themselves from every- 
thing that was luminous. And from what had 
sprung these frightful results ? Here is the answer : 
They had sinned, and, in sinning, had sown discord, 
— a discord which emptied earth of its paradise, and 
made the " blue infinite " recoil from the sight of 
terrestrial life. 

Now, whatever difference of opinion there may be 
on questions relating to the foundation or to the 
authorship of the story referred to, all men must 
concede that it is a story which has been, and which 
will continue to be, instructive as to human sin, in 
every historic period. People are sowing discord 
to-day, substantially, just as that man and that wo- 
man of the storied paradise of old sowed it. Hence 
it is that, in whatever direction one turns, he is 
obliged to discover proofs and exhibitions of inhar- 
moniousness. There are domestic, commercial, polit- 
ical incongruities and dissonances, disturbances, and 
disorders. There are envyings, bickerings, back- 
bitings, and chronic grudges. There are acrimoni- 
ous disagreements and virulent animosities. There 
are tongues which drip with vituperation. There 



264 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

are hearts whose early loveliness has been burned to 
ashes by the lava-flames of ungoverned passion. 
There are bosoms which are " breathing out threat - 
enings and slaughter." Homes, once peaceful, have 
become the dwelling-places of estranged kindred. 
Neighborhoods once happy in the interchange of 
sympathy and kindness, have become collections of 
alienated families. Nations, once linked in prosper- 
ous concord, have become mutually distrustful and 
hostile. And all these lamentable things of life 
have their existence, because there are willful sin- 
ners in the world, and because every willful sinner 
soweth discord. 



VI. 

THE SECRET OF THE IMMORTALIZATION OF 
ENDEARMENT. 

" O sacred bond, by time thou art not broken ! 
O thing divine, by angels to be spoken ! " 

Drayton, The Legend of Pierce Gaveston. 

Human affection, as all know, does, in spite of 
the separation wrought by death, remain faithful to 
its object. Indeed, all know that, as the years roll 
on after that separation, it fondly cherishes and per- 
sistently preserves its tender regard for its loved one. 
Why is this ? It is, I answer, because of that which, 
in any and in every case, accounts for the existence 
and the durability of fondness on the part of one 
soul for another. The explanation is nothing less 






THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 265 

and nothing more than influence, — influence of a 
kind peculiarly sweet, — left to live and reproduce 
itself. 

David and Jonathan loved each other just as they 
did, because they had influenced each other just as 
they had ; and when Jonathan was dead, David con- 
tinued to love Jonathan, because the latter, by his 
immortal influence on his friend, had immortalized 
his friend's endearment to him. And thus it is ever. 
Influence — that which is the secret of the existence 
of endearment — is the secret of its immortalization. 

In one of the wars of the Crusades, Gilbert-a-Beck- 
et, the father of the celebrated Thomas-a-Becket, 
was taken prisoner by a Syrian emir. A daughter 
of the emir, on seeing the captive stranger and hear- 
ing him converse, came to have a great love for him, 
and sought to open a way whereby he, in company 
with herself, might depart to England. Gilbert 
escaped ; but, by reason of some miscarriage as to 
the plan, she remained behind. Afterward, how- 
ever, she succeeded in obtaining a passage to the 
land whither the object of her affection had- gone. 
She knew but two English words, and they were 
"London " and " Gilbert." After reaching London, 
she for months traveled the streets, followed always 
by a curious crowd, and continually repeating the 
name "Gilbert." Finally, she arrived in the vicin- 
ity of Gilbert's house ; and one of the servants 
there heard the cry which she uttered. Gilbert, 
being informed of the circumstance, hastened to the 
door ; and soon, in the van of the gaping crowd, he 
recognized his Syrian lover. He received her to his 
bosom, and married her. What if he had been dead ? 



266 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Would he not Still have been dear to that seeking 
maiden ? The truth is, the influence she had received 
from him was deathless ; and her love for him had 
borrowed deathlessness from it. 

Interesting is it to muse on that extraordinary 
friendship which existed between Montaigne and La 
Boetie. Even before they had met they had drunk 
into their souls each other's influence, and, by rea- 
son of so doing, had become accustomed to " em- 
brace each other in their names." Of the strong 
attachment which arose between them, Montaigne 
speaks " as of a great fact in nature." He even 
ascribes it to " some secret appointment of heaven." 
He could not submit to have that friendship ranked 
with any common one. " We were halves through- 
out," he says, " and to that degree that, methinks, 
by outliving him, I defraud him of his part." And 
again he says : " There is no act or imagining of 
mine where I do not miss him." What an endear- 
ment it was which that friend of the noble old Gas- 
con essayist had, by the influence wherewith he glad- 
dened the soul of the latter, rendered immortal ! 

The mother of William Cowper sowed in him, 
when he was a child, such seed as led him to say of 
her, years and years after her burial : 

... " Thy own sweet smile I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me." 

Ah ! how could it have perished from his nature — 
that endearment which was born of the influence 
caught by him from the guardian, tender and holy, 
who used to dress him for school 

" In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap," 



THE EVER -LIVING PRODUCE. 267 

used to bestow on him •' morning bounties," and used 
to bathe his little cheeks with " fragrant waters ? " 

The process whereby endearment is immortalized 
is an ever-continuing one ; for it is identical with 
that of the reproduction of the ever-living produce. 
I will endeavor to illustrate it. 

He that is worthy of esteem and affection, what- 
ever may be his name or clime, has friends, to whom, 
whether he lives or dies, he will be an object of 
loving interest. This is one of those beautiful cer- 
tainties which impart a perennial fairness to the 
prospect of future existence, and which make des- 
tiny itself look hospitable. See the fine instance 
of goodness, the true attractor of hearts ! During 
many years he has walked with his chosen associates, 
both in pleasure's flowery paths and in sorrow's 
thorny ways. And in every hour of his communion 
with them he has exerted on them his influence. 
Think now of the results of that influence. His 
image is clearly formed in their minds.. His pecu- 
liarities have become fully known to them, and 
cannot be forgotten. His opinions, his plans, his 
hopes, his triumphs, his troubles, his jo} T s — all these 
have been impressively revealed to their minds. 
Many times have he and they parted, with eyes 
bedewed with affectionate tears, while from subdued 
lips fell the gentle good-by of confiding fondness ; 
and many times have he and they blissfully joined 
hands, when the season of separation had ended. 
And now, suppose a great thing : suppose that he 
has passed through the mystery of death, and that 
his body is waiting to be carried to its last resting- 
place. The question arises, How has his decease 



268 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

affected the relationship, nay, the endearment of his 
friends to him ? Has it destroyed it ? Has it weak- 
ened it ? Let us see. The} r are at hand, mourning 
on account of the loss of his visible presence. Early 
had they sought his bedside, that they might lighten 
his load of pain, and soothe his disease-fretted 
nature. They had softly pressed his feverish pulse. 
They had tenderly wiped the sweat-drops from his 
fading brow. They had beheld when the mighty 
change came, by which language was made to cease 
from his mortal lips, vision from his mortal eyes, 
and vitality from his mortal heart. But, though he 
is dead, they deem it better to be at the house where 
lingers his spiritless form, than to be at any house of 
festivity. They go tearfully to the place of quiet 
burial. They go sorrowfully to their homes when 
the burial-scene is over. 

And what then ? Is not their deceased friend 
still an object of loving interest to them ? Is he not 
as dear to them as he was before ? Do not all the 
impressions he made on their minds, while living, 
remain to tell them what he was ? Does not the 
image of him — the very same image of him which 
they used to bear — abide with undimmed vividness 
in their souls; and does it not, and will it not, 
through all years, in union with the bright associa- 
tions which cluster around it, represent to them his 
engaging character," his attractive manhood? And 
will he not be dear to them forever ? Oh ! who of 
all men is there that can, by making the passage 
over death's somber river, break the tie of affection 
by which his friends are bound to him ? Who that 
has won the cherishing fondness of the true and 



THE EVEE-LIVING PRODUCE. 269 

good, can depart from the moorings of mortality to 
the shore of the endless life, without leaving loving 
hearts to keep his memory green ? 



VII. 

LIFE AND INFLUENCE INSEPARABLE. 

Un cabello haze sombra. 
(" The least hair makes a shadow.") 

Spanish Proverb. 

All mortals, without exception, are scatterers 
of germinant mental produce, from which springeth 
up something acceptable or something unwelcome, 
something beneficial or something noxious. True it 
is, there are persons who seem actually to have 
arrived at the conclusion that they are of no conse- 
quence to others. They are peculiar, if for nothing 
else, for their self-depreciation. And there is proof 
enough of the falseness of the conclusion which they 
draw, or seem to draw, as to their lack of conse- 
quence, in the very fact that, while letting them- 
selves depreciate themselves, they are influencing 
others in no goodly manner and to no desirable end. 
Observe any one of them. He is accustomed to 
compare himself with those who have more property 
than he, a better education than he, or a higher 
degree of social distinction than he, and then to look 
on himself with a downcast eye, and virtually say, 
" What am I in this big, tough, bustling world ? 
Were I dead and buried, who would miss me ? Alas ! 



270 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

I have no importance, no influence ! I am but a 
cipher." Now, by way of delivering from his un- 
happy disposition any one who is inclined thus to 
deny his own significance, there may well be offered 
a little medicine compounded of assurance and ex- 
postulation. The individual is laboring under a 
mistake. He is not a cipher, and can never be one. 
He is a human being. He has a living body, with a 
thinking soul inside of it. Hence he is and must be 
of some consequence to others ; he sheds and must 
shed some influence on others. Why, what would 
a person be if he were without any influence ? Who 
can conceive a living, knowing, accountable creature, 
going and coming, sitting down and rising up, speak- 
ing and acting, and yet exerting no influence? Such 
a one has never been. Such a one cannot be. Says 
the profound author of Sermons for the New Life : 

11 Simply to be in this world, whatever you are, is to exert an 
influence." 

A living dog, declares Solomon, is better than a 
dead lion. And why was he moved to make this 
declaration ? Evidently because his soul was pressed 
by something like the ponderous truth, that life and 
influence are inseparable. There occurs in one of 
the works of Haflz, a Persian poet, a fine little fable, 
which has an apt moral for him who has taught his 
heart the lie that he is, or can be, utterly uninfluen- 
tial. I quote it from The Spectator, No. 293 : 

" A drop [of water] fell out of a cloud into the sea, and finding 
itself lost in such an immensity of fluid [liquid] matter, broke out 
into the following reflection : ' Alas ! what an inconsiderable crea- 
ture am I in this prodigious ocean of waters ! My existence is of 
no concern to the universe; lam reduced to a kind of nothing, and 



THE EVER-LIVING PRODUCE. 271 

am less than the least of the works of God.' It so happened that an 
oyster, which lay in the neighborhood of this drop, chanced to gape 
and swallow it up in the midst of this its humble soliloquy. The 
drop, says the fable, lay a great while hardening in the shell, until 
by degrees it was ripened into a pearl, which, falling into the hands 
of a diver, after a long series of adventures, is at present that 
famous pearl which is fixed on the top of the Persian diadem." 

Put thyself, reader, wheresoever thou rnayest, and if 
thou canst so much as look at other members of thy 
race and be looked at by them, thou wilt sow seeds 
in human soil. Thou wilt send forth out of thyself 
vital grains of a produce fitted to give rise, either to 
things wholesome and benign, or to things inimical 
to human welfare, — things such as irritation, con- 
tention, confusion ; such as the fever of unrest, or 
the " sorrow which worketh death." Beware lest 
thou sow iniquity, and be left to reap vanity ! Lis- 
ten ! There do seem to echo along the air, as if 
freshly wafted from some breezy Scottish highland, 
those notes of Bonar's charming harp : 

" Sow truth, if thou the truth wouldst reap, 
Who sows the false shall reap the vain ; 
Erect and sound thy conscience keep, 
From hollow words and deeds refrain. 

"Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure, 

Sow peace, and reap its harvests bright; 
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor, 
And find a harvest-home of light." 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 



. . . "No man is tbe lord of anything 
(Though in and of him there be much consisting,) 
Till he communicate his parts to others." 

Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida. 



18 273 



Chapter V. 

PRESENCE AND THE PRESENCE- 
FORCE. 



THE SECRET OE PERSONAL IMPRESSIVENESS. 

" Certainly it is agreeable to reason, that there are at the least 
some light effluxions from spirit to spirit, when men are in pres- 
ence one with another, as well as from body to body." 

Lord Bacon, Sylva Sylvarum. 

" There went virtue out of him." This is one 
of the deep things said of Jesus the Christ, in the 
evangelic history. And the saying is equivalent to 
the averment, that he was the subject of an effluence 
which was of a quality peculiar to him — an efflu- 
ence which not only continually went out to make 
him personally impressive, but sometimes specially 
went out to penetrate adjacent humanity. 

In the same history, one finds it recorded concern- 
ing Cleopas and his traveling mate, whom Jesus had 
accompanied for some distance on the way to Em- 
maus, and from whom he had suddenly withdrawn 
himself, having been recognized by them as their 
loved Master only at the last moment, that they said 
one to the other : 

"Did not our heart burn within us while he talked with us by 
the way, and while he opened to us the Scriptures? " 

275 



276 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

It is evident that, though they did not while he 
was conversing with them know who he was, they 
needed no proof that they were holding intercourse 
with a great soul. The effect which the " virtue," 
emitted by his rich nature, had on them, sufficed to 
show them that such was the case. By the won- 
drous sway which they felt he was exercising over 
them, by that secret nameless burning which he 
caused them to experience in their hearts, they were 
certain that they were walking with no common 
man. 

Now, so it ever is when a representative of the 
u pure kind of kingship " goes along with persons 
of ordinary endowments, and talks with them by 
the way. He warms them with something more 
permeating than the heat of glowing coals, or thrills 
them with something more penetrant than a current 
of electricity. By means of his outcoming expira- 
tory principle, his soul-evolved effluence, he gains 
an easy conquest over them, and does this without 
appearing to press himself in the least toward the 
realization of any aim at mastery. A force stirring 
to the mind and awakening to the heart, passes from 
him into them ; and so welcome is it, that they treat 
him with rare deference, — they refrain from vulgar 
speech if they are vulgar, and from profanity if they 
are profane, — they give ear to all that he says, and 
honor him, perhaps, by withholding themselves from 
all opposition to his opinions. Indeed, so long as he 
and they continue to walk together, they show by 
their demeanor that he is touching, influencing, mov- 
ing their souls with a fine exhalation or efflux out- 
sent from his own nature, 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 277 

Such, in comprehensive terms, is the explanation 
of personal impressiveness. Presence-effluence is 
indispensable to personal influence. A mind nobly 
self-conscious and profoundly awake, by reason that 
it directly evolves something quickening, carries an 
energizing atmosphere about it wherever it goes — 
an atmosphere the quality of which is determined by 
the quality of the same mind itself. But a mind that 
insufficiently makes itself felt, is lacking in presence- 
force. The saying is true, that men, like wagons, 
rattle prodigiously when there is nothing in them. 
Effluent " virtue " is what imparts brightness to mien 
and potency to bearing. Who does not know the 
power which a smile can have ? The Italian poets 
say, Lampeggiar delV angelico riso, — "the lightning 
of the angelicsmile." Who has never felt this? And 
who does not know the power which a glance can 
have ? " Nothing," says Victor Hugo, " is more real 
than the mighty shocks which two souls give each 
other by exchanging this spark." 

The man of firm will and heroic spirit is enabled, 
by the energizing principle which he perennially and 
hourly sends out, to get by violent ill-wishers with 
ease, and leave them behind him to tell what grace- 
ful bravery he exhibited as he passed coolly along, 
reaching forth in his own unique way for victor}^. 
Concerning Julius Caesar, it is related that he op- 
posed only the authority of his countenance and the 
sharpness of his rebukes to his legions, when they 
mutinously armed themselves against him. 

" Upon a parapet of turf he stood, 

And froze the mutineers' rebellious blood." 

LcrcAN. 



278 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Whipple, in his Character and Characteristic Men, 
speaking of Zachary Macaulay, the father of the 
eminent historian, says that his " mere presence was 
conversation." And of the gifted T. Starr King, 
he remarks that he had the rare felicity, in everj^- 
thing he said and did, of communicating himself ; 
that everybody he met he unconsciously enriched, 
and everywhere he went he instinctively organized ; 
that everybody felt grateful to that genial exorcist, 
who drove the devils of selfishness and pride from 
the heart, and softly ensconced himself in their va- 
cated seats. " His presence," he adds, " outvalued 
everything in the room he gladdened with his beam- 
ing face." 

Captain Basil Hall, referring to the beguiling pres- 
ence of Sir Walter Scott, describes the path where 
he once walked with him, as " muddy and scarcely 
passable," yet declares that he did not remember 
ever to have seen any place so interesting as the 
same narrow ravine was rendered by the skill of 
that mighty magician. 

Now, the presence-force, which was possessed in 
the foregoing notable instances, was, at bottom, a 
force such as all men have, in one measure or an- 
other. When put to high use, it is the quiet way- 
opener for the will. It makes clear a route by souls, 
and over them, and in spite of them, subdues resist- 
ance without noise and almost without seeming to 
fight against it, turns lukewarm favorers into de- 
voted allies, and enemies into friends. 

In educating, evangelizing, civilizing men, how 
could presence-force be spared ? It was this that 
gave to Paul such access to the good graces of 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. ' 279 

King Agrippa; this that secured to Columbus "the 
patronage of the Queen of Spain ; this that helped, 
more than any other earthly thing, in winning for 
Luther his triumph before the Diet at Worms ; this 
that sent the money-changers and the dove-sellers 
scampering out of the Jerusalem temple. 

Jesus, it must be conceded, had more presence- 
force than the ablest of men have, because he was 
ineffably superior to men. The " virtue " that went 
out of him, whenever he held company with human 
beings, did sometimes, under his direction, work 
wonderful changes in bodies as well as in souls.* 
It permeated to the sick vitals of pining invalids, 
darted along their veins, arteries, nerves, and mus- 
cular fibers, and through their rheumatic joints, 
driving disease out of the parts where it had long 
perpetrated its ravages, and making the breath of 
the sad sufferers sweet with new-created health. 
But, though men can, by the exertion of their souls, 
emit nothing so marvelously potent as that effluence 
which went from the sound and fine nature of the 
Master, yet every one can have enough presence- 
force to render himself interesting to those with 
whom he converses. There is something which goes 
forth from yourself, and which gives you an air of 
your own — which creates for you a personal atmos- 
phere expressive of your quality. It is something 
which depends for its evolvement both on the out- 
ward and on the inward man ; but which, though it 
has its origin partly in the visible body, is referable 
rather to the soul than to the corporeal frame. By 
that something, whatever it may be, you are enabled 

* See Luke vii. 



280 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

to produce effects on others, when you are utterly 
silent, and even when you come near others, and 
look on them, before they have discovered your ap- 
proach. The reader of the pages of Les Miserables 
finds himself, in a certain place, pondering over the 
information that Marius, as he drew near at one 
time to beautiful Cosette in the garden where she 
was lingering, penetrated and moved her with his 
presence-force, before he had spoken to her a word, 
and even before she had caught an echo of his foot- 
steps or a glimpse of his approaching form. " All 
at once," says Victor Hugo, " she had that indescrib- 
able feeling which people experience, even without 
seeing, when some one is standing behind them." 

Have you never thought how effective one can be, 
without the movement of a limb or of a muscle? 
There is ample scope for you and me to " communi- 
cate our parts to others," independently of special 
manners and much speaking. We say and do a mul- 
titude of things to add to our impressiveness, which, 
forsooth, do but serve to interrupt the outflow of 
our expiratory energy, and, therefore, to make us 
less impressive. Let us beware how we have re- 
course to affectations, studied modes, strained exer- 
tions, and the like, remembering that, instead of prov- 
ing helps to personal forcibleness, such recourses 
tend far more often to lessen it than to increase it. 
To the unpretending and earnest, they are reasons 
for attributing to us insincerity and lack of mental 
depth. " Putting on airs " and straining after effect, 
invariably show superficiality. Better is it, always, 
to be nobly natural. We should trust our souls to 
look out in their own way. Doing so, we uncon- 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 281 

strainedly exert the secret source of personal power, 
and render presence a quickened and quickening 
medium of mental force. 

It is not necessary to try hard to talk. How need- 
lessly do many persons suffer, in their chairs, by rea- 
son of the feeling that they say too little, or have 
too little to say ! They seem to owe their embar- 
rassment to the erroneous notion that, to be inter- 
esting in conversation, one must inflict just so much 
wear and tear on his vocal organs, and must just so 
often say something even though he may mean noth- 
ing. Let us be done with this false notion ! We 
need but to have a lively presence, in the time of 
conversation, to be deemed sociable. Little may you 
give from your lips to him who comes to talk with 
you ; few, indeed, may be the circumlocutions you 
use with him ; you may- be hearer rather than speaker ; 
but if you have an awakened soul just behind your 
eyes, and there is a free emission of its own energy, 
then your countenance will be expressive, your man- 
ner communicative, and your society sufficiently 
agreeable. 



282 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

II. 

PERSONAL ATMOSPHERES: THEIR DISSIMILITUDE. 

" We are no sooner presented to any one we never saw before, 
but we are immediately struck with the idea of a proud, a reserved, 
an affable, or a good-natured man; and upon our first going into 
a company of strangers, our benevolence or aversion, awe or con- 
tempt, rises naturally toward several particular persons, before we 
have heard them speak a single word, or so much as know who 
they are." The Spectator, No. 86. 

Conceive a sphere of ethereal substance, with a 
human being in its center ; and conceive every liv- 
ing individual to be the center of such a sphere. 
You will, then, have in mind that which will enable 
you to form some clear idea of what is meant by 
presence, when this word is employed in its deeper 
sense. Men go about carrying with them invisible 
spheres of the magnetism which emanates from 
them ; and the spheric amount of magnetism around 
each is his personal atmosphere. In Werner's Die 
Schutzgeister (" Guardian Angels,") are the words : 

" Every man, when awake and in good health, has an atmos- 
phere which possesses a certain extension." 

And says the learned George Bush : 

" Every one is surrounded by an invisible aura or atmosphere, 
which is constantly exhaling from his person and spreading to 
some distance on every side, and bearing to him somewhat £he 
same relation that the aerial atmosphere does to the earth." 

The same author, speaking further concerning the 
personal atmosphere, remarks that it " is not merely 
the efflux of the corporeal system, but it emanates 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 283 

also from the interior spirit, the seat of sentiments 
and intellectual sympathies." 

The use of the term atmosphere to denote the 
aura or presence of a person, is, notwithstanding its 
lack of absolute etymological fitness, amply war- 
ranted by analogous applications of it which have, 
from time to time, been made by scientists and phi- 
losophers. They have employed it not only to sig- 
nify the aeriform envelope of the earth, but also any 
other circumjacent medium, whether gaseous or im- 
ponderable. The electrician employs the term to 
express the supposed medium around an electrical 
body. The prying explorer, who resolutely searches 
for nature's atomic secrets, makes use of it in defin- 
ing the minute spaces which divide molecule from 
molecule, throughout all the kingdoms of material 
being — those spaces wherein occur the attractions 
and the repulsions that explain cohesion and chemi- 
cal affinity. It is also used to denote the character- 
istic sphere around any body which has a marked 
tendency to diffuse abroad its own peculiar substance. 
Put a grain of musk in a room, and let it remain there 
undisturbed for twenty years, and it will during all 
that period render the apartment perceptibly odorous. 
And so inconceivably fine will be the particles emanat- 
ing from it, that if, at the end of the twenty years, the 
single grain, yielding that musk-atmosphere, should 
be weighed, no loss of weight would be detected. 
The rose emits a fragrant effluence which creates for 
it a sphere of unique perfume — a rose-atmosphere. 
The water-lily exhales an unmatchable aroma, which 
constitutes for it an envelope " eye hath not seen " 
— a medium delicately rich and preciously sweet — 



284 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

its own consummate atmosphere. The honeysuckle 
sends out molecules which make for it a hone} T suckle 
atmosphere. The rank, unwholesome weed, rooted 
in sterile soil, gives forth emanations which form for 
it an atmosphere savoring of its own wild, evil, repul- 
sive nature. 

Now, just as it is a help in expressing any one of 
these invisible material media, to call it the atmos- 
phere of that to which it owes its existence and its 
peculiarities, so it is a help in expressing the medium 
around one's mental substance — that which bears 
the decided flavor of one's personality, and in which 
occur the attractions and the repulsions resulting 
from the relation of one's own soul-evolved effluence 
to the soul-evolved effluence of others — to call it 
his personal atmosphere. But, whether there be 
applied to it this appellation, or the more abstract 
one of presence, it is trusted the reader discerns 
sufficiently what is meant. 

Swedenborg — he who has been called " the type 
of the greatest possible spiritual ecstasy " — has 
much to say in relation to personal atmospheres ; 
and certainly, whatever may be thought concerning 
his seership, his teachings in respect to such atmos- 
pheres can, on no tenable ground, be deemed to be 
valueless vaporings. In treating the subject, he 
constantly employs the term sphere, to denote the 
human aura. His generic affirmation is, that " every- 
thing is surrounded by something similar to that 
which is within it, and that this is continually ex- 
haled from it." A viewless stream incessantly goes 
out, in the manner of an efflux, from every man, 
animal, flower, shrub, tree, specimen of fruit, and 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY, 285 

even from ever} r metal and every. stone. In the case 
of each human being, the effluent stream is in its 
nature both spiritual and physical. " There flows 
forth," he says, " yea, overflows from every man a 
spiritual sphere, derived from the affections of his 
love, — which encompasses him, and infuses itself 
into the natural sphere derived from the body, so 
that the two spheres are conjoined." 

The aura of a person, so far as it is exclusively of 
bodily origin, is (according to his teaching) " a 
sphere of effluvias exuding from him," and is such 
that it " is sensibly smelt by sagacious beasts ; " but, 
so far as it is of spiritual origin, it is the image of 
the person extended without him, and " is, indeed, 
the image of all things appertaining to him." * His 

* Possibly the true explanation of the presence-force and the 
personal atmosphere, may be this: that the magnetic fluid, which 
naturally emanates from the body, is made to take a determinate 
direction and a specific intensity of motion, by the soul acting as a 
moving cause in relation to that fluid, rather than as an emitter of 
an effluence that mixes therewith. This explanation seems to be 
plainly implied in the following words of Deleuze : " Nothing pre- 
vents me from emitting it [the magnetic fluid] ; but there may be 
in the individual upon whom I act, some obstacle which prevents 
the effects I intend to produce, and then I experience a greater or 
less resistance, in the same manner as when I employ my strength 
to lift a burden that is too heavy ; this resistance may even be 
invincible. The magnetic fluid is continually escaping from us, 
and it forms an atmosphere round our bodies, which, having no 
determinate direction, does not perceptibly act upon the individu- 
als who are about us, but it is impelled and guided by our will ; it 
moves forward with the whole of that force which we have im- 
parted to it, like the luminous rays which issue from ignited sub- 
stances. The principle which sets it in action exists in our souls, 
in the same way as that which communicates strength to our arm, 
and its nature is similar." 

There may, however, be (and I am inclined to think there is) an 



286 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE, 

doctrine of the soul-element included in presence, 
is, that it is the exhalation flowing forth from the 
life of the loves or affections, and that by it one 
person has knowledge of the quality of another. I 
quote from his writings a single passage more : 

" Man does not know that, according to the life of his affections, 
a certain spiritual sphere encompasses him, which sphere is more 
perceptible to the angels than a sphere of odor is to the most ex- 
quisite sense in the world. If his life has been in externals alone, 
namely, in pleasures derived from hatreds against his neighbor, 
from revenges and from cruelty thence, from adulteries, from 
self- exaltation, and thence contempt of others, from clandestine 
rapines, from avarice, from deceits, from luxury, and the like, the 
spiritual sphere which encompasses him is as foul and offensive, 
as is in the world the sphere of odors from dead bodies, from dung- 
hills, from stinking filth, and the like. The man who has led such 
a life, carries with him this sphere after death ; and because he is 
entirely and wholly in that sphere, he cannot be anywhere but in 
hell, where such spheres are. But they who are in internal things, 
namely, avIio have had delight in benevolence and charity toward 
their neighbor, and especially who have had blessedness in love to 
the Lord, are encompassed with a grateful and pleasant sphere, 
which is essentially heavenly, on which account they are in 
heaven." 

The dissimilitude which appertains to personal at- 
mospheres, is a consideration of practical not less than 
of philosophic importance. It embraces unlikenesses 
which may be represented as existing in quantity, 
quality, strength, keenness, and weight of presence, 
as well as in a number of other particulars too recon- 
dite, perhaps, to admit being expressed in single 
terms. There are peculiarities of every specimen of 
poetry, of romance, of history, of biography, of paint- 
ethereal principle which is evolved by the soul from its own inner 
and spiritual form, and which unites with the bodily magnetism, 
and secures to the personal atmosphere the power of expressing 
soul-quality. 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 287 

ing, of sculpture, of music, of elocution, which can 
be explained only by referring them to peculiarities 
of personal effluence. That which constitutes the 
presence that goes with one's body, constitutes also 
a presence that goes with one's production.* In the 
greatest of lexicons, I find among the phraseology 
of definitions the words, " the fine diffusive quality 
of intellectual power," and " the subtile aroma of 
genius/' f The language is impressively suggestive 
of the dissimilitude of the atmospheres which differ- 
ent souls make to exist around them, and make to 
exist also around all that they produce. The simple 
truth is, the atmosphere which every person has, is 
peculiar to him because it results from the issuing 

* The position advanced is substantially like that which I find to be 
set forth in a suggestive article on the Persistence of Force, which 
was first published in the columns of The Golden Age, and wbich 
was reprinted in The Christian Union (1873). The author of the 
article maintains that the effluence, which is imparted by a person, 
and which, in the case of genius, "has its source and hiding in the 
most interior places of the personality, not only attends one's mien 
and manners, utterances and gestures, but also one's works, and 
that it persistently pervades as well as accompanies these, being 
indestructible, and affording a new sanction and ground for faith 
in personal immortality." " One of the most wonderful things in 
life, in literature, in art," says that writer, "is the persistence of 
the personality in its creations and emanations. The Iliad is not 
merely so many cantos of inimitable verse; it is Homer. The sad, 
solitary, grand heart of Dante palpitates in every verse of the Corn- 
media. Every thought of Goethe reflects his personality in its 
shining facets. The fascination of Carlyle's works consists almost 
solely in the personal electricity with which they are charged. 
The charm and power of Emerson's essays reside chiefly in the 
spirit and aroma of his unique personality; the more colorless 
they are in themselves, the more perfectly they mirror the features 
and genius of their author." 

f See Webster's Unabridged Pictorial Dictionary, p. 76. 



288 THE GREAT SLTGHTED FORTUNE. 

forth of the ''diffusive quality" of his own mental 
power. See how this declaration is confirmed ! Sir 
William Davenant, in his GondiberU says of Birtha: 

" She ne'er saw courts, yet courts could have undone, 
With untaught looks and an unpracticed heart." 

Jean Paul speaks of " that holy maiden look which 
is bright and attentive, but not searching." Heine, 
describing a beautiful maid, presents the picture : 

" Girl so garnered round with sweetness, 
Never did a poet frame." 

Victor Hugo says, " There is a loss of caloric in the 
vicinity of cold persons." Whittier, in his Snoiv- 
Bound, alludes to " the dear aunt " as one, 

" Whose presence seemed the sweet income 
And womanly atmosphere of home." 

Anciently, it was believed of certain Scythian 
women, that whenever they became enraged at any 
one they killed the person by throwing their pres- 
ence in a condensed form on him, and piercing him 
with a look. 

One person has a dry, tedious presence, which 
makes you desire to get beyond its compass as soon 
as possible, so that you may breathe more freely ; 
another has a thick, sticky presence, something of 
which disagreeably adheres to you, like pitch-pine 
sap, when you have left him. Youth, if un with- 
ered by disappointment, unblunted by tyranny, and 
unpoisoned by vice, has a fresh, bright presence ; 
age, on the contrary, unless great pains have been 
taken to preserve its intellectual elasticity and to 
keep its heart young, has, at best, an uninvigorating 
presence. " Souls," says Montaigne, " are never or 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 289 

very rarely seen, that, in growing old, do not smell 
sour and inusty." The hypochondriac has a heavy, 
abnormal presence, which oppresses and chokes you, 
like unwholesome smoke or malarious night-air ; the 
wit has an electric presence, which, whenever you 
rub your soul against it, seems to flash and crackle, 
like a cat's far when 3*011 rake it with your fingers. 
One person has a grave, sedate presence; another 
has a playful, humorous, mirth-awakening presence 
Who has not known some individual whose habitual 
outcome of magnetic energy was such that it would 
have continually caused even the dignified to relax 
to a gay mood, and be bo}*ishly facetious ? There 
are those who seem not able to perform any act or 
to assume any demeanor, that will make their pres- 
ence less exciting to the susceptibility of mirth. If 
you should see one of this class of persons weep, 
you would feel to laugh ; if you should see him 
suffer, you would feel to smile ; if you should see 
him die, you would almost be tempted to allow 
yourself to give place to emotions of jovialty, so 
magically diverting would be the atmosphere of his 
dear, clever spirit. 

One person has a presence all imbued with the 
winning melancholy which is inseparable from a 
profound, gracious, and holy earnestness, and which 
gives a "pensive depth" to the eye. Another has a 
presence so pervaded with intellectual vitality, and 
so charged with intellectual lightning, that it instan- 
taneously elicits from all whom it meets, or who 
meet it, an intense attention. 

When Goethe came as a stranger to the Strasburg 
dining-table, and unwittingly took his seat opposite 
19 



290 THE GKEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Stilling and Herr Troost, his soul-evolved effluence 
deeply penetrated them both, and Troost told the 
opinion which they alike formed concerning the new- 
comer, in his remark to Stilling, " That must be a 
superior man." Subsequently, Troost's experience 
of Goethe's magnetism at the same table, led him to 
say to his friend, " Here it were best one sat seven 
days silent." Stilling, in his Wander schaft, vividly 
describes that masterly young German as he ap- 
peared in those days. He had large, bright eyes, a 
magnificent brow, a fine stature, and a gallant man- 
ner of walking. From his place at the table, he 
"now and then hurled over a look ; " and one result 
of the presence-force which characterized him was, 
that he " had the government of the table without 
aiming at it." 

The personal atmosphere possessed by Madame de 
Stael was distinguished by a quality which made it 
not less thrilling than that of Goethe. Zacharias 
Werner once wrote concerning her: 

"The men of intellect who live in her circle cannot withdraw 
from it ; for she detains them by a species of magic. . . . She is a 
vigorous brunette, and her countenance is not, strictly speaking, 
handsome. But all that is forgotten when we meet her superb 
eyes, wherein a great and divine soul not merely shines, but emits 
fire and flame." 

In reading Heinrich Steffens' Story of His Career 
as Student and Professor, it is a high entertainment 
to notice the dissimilitude of personal atmospheres, 
indicated by him in his vivid references to the char- 
acteristic traits of the great German scholars and 
authors that were his contemporaries. He describes 
Schelling, that brave elucidator of the unity of nature, 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 291 

as having an air of decision, a countenance expres- 
sive of energy, and large, clear eyes in which lay a 
mighty power. His, we are left to infer, was the 
presence of a firm, positive, fearless intellect. An- 
tagonism found in it an impenetrable wall. To 
timid and crouching opponents, it made him a 
haughty adversary : to his disciples it rendered him 
a hero-teacher, one whom they followed with a re- 
vering and chivalric confidence, like that with which 
loyal soldiers follow a tried and trusted captain. 

Fichte is described by him as having sharp, au- 
thoritative eyes, and as uttering sentences which 
fell like strokes from a razor. Evidently his was the 
imposing presence — that of the magisterial think- 
er, the privileged denizen of the realm of clear 
ideas and absolute principles. We must conceive 
that his very silence was mandatory, and that the 
commands which it dealt out were satisfiedly met 
only with unhesitating obedience. When he said to 
his pupils, "Gentlemen, withdraw within your- 
selves ; enter into your own mind," there was doubt- 
less that in his personal atmosphere which at once 
made his words seem to be the words of one having 
authority. 

Steffens represents Goethe as revealing through 
the medium of his presence a greatness like that 
revealed in his works. When he first beheld his 
noble figure, his admirable carriage, his speaking 
eye, the indefinable composure manifest in all that 
he did, and the majesty of his whole appearance, he 
had to turn away to hide the tears resulting from 
the spontaneous emotions which arose within him. 
It seemed to him, as he looked on the face and the 



292 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

form of that grand man, he saw in him Egmont, 
Orange, and Tasso. His description enables ns to 
understand those epithets, applied to Goethe by 
his German admirers : " The dear, dear man ! " 
" The life-enjoying man ! " u The all-sided one ! " 
" The representative of poetry on earth ! " " The 
many-sided master-mind of Germany ! " * By invi- 
tation, Steffens passed some days as Goethe's guest, 
at Weimar; and those days, he affirms, were spent 
by him in a kind of ecstasy. 

Frederick Schlegel is portrayed, by the same de- 
scril er, as a remarkable man of slender figure ; of 
features regular, fair, and in the highest degree ex- 
pressive ; of a quiet manner ; of quick and complete 
comprehension ; and of strong personal influence. 
His, we may infer, was the gentle, attractive pres- 
ence of the calm, still lover of the abstract, of his- 
tory, and of meditation. 

From Steffens' delineation of Novalis, that peer- 
lessly-refined soul whose passion for the sublime, the 
mystical, and the mythic was his most marked trait, 
one gathers that his presence was of a kind ethereally 
sensitive. His countenance was dark, his lips thin, 
his eyes deep, spiritual, and lighted with a lambent 
glow, and his look sometimes ironical, but usually 
serious. He continually showed that his mind's 
most familiar haunts were in a hidden world, totally 
unlike the common rugged one, and that his insight 
into character, and into the relations of science and 
of the fine arts, was most delicately intuitive. Won- 
derful was that personal atmosphere of his, whereby 
he could detect in a moment the presence of any 

* See Longfellow's Hyperion, \>. 157. 



THE MYSTIC PEESONALTY. 293 

nature not in unison with his own, and whereby, 
when he met a kindred soul, he knew the fact as 
readily as one knows the tender voice of a chosen 
friend. 

The same story-telling professor next recounts 
some of the personal characteristics of Schleiermach- 
er; and his narration warrants the inference that 
the presence of Schleiermacher was such as univer- 
sally belongs to souls that are immensely strong, 
profoundly serene, and accustomed to constant and 
perfect self-mastery. His movements were quick, 
his features sharply defined, his lips firmly pressed 
together, his eye keen and fiery. He seemed to 
look his listener through. 

Rahel, the celebrated Jewess of Berlin, was a 
fine instance of that species of presence which par- 
takes in a high degree of exalted and magical intel- 
lectual power. Jean Paul describes her as " a 
woman alone of her kind," and gives her the title of 
" the winged one." It was at a period between the 
years 1800 and 1833, that she appeared in the prime 
of her strange luminosity of mind, and became famous 
for the extraordinary manner in which she " commu- 
nicated the life that was in her." Her youth had 
been passed in studies, sorrows, and sicknesses. 
When she had arrived at perhaps the age of forty- 
three years, she became the wife of Varnhagen von 
Ense, who has embalmed her name in his Memoirs. 
Though she did not pretend to be the possessor of 
beauty, yet she was unspeakably charming. Her 
admirers included some of the most eminent scholars 
and literary masters of the period in which she was 
a distinguished center of attraction. She had a high 



294 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

brow, a curved mouth, and " still eyes full of con- 
templation." She reached after and seized truths 
of the most elevated order, simply by feeling and 
reflection. Goethe, making mention of her, declared 
her to be a " right woman," having not only the 
strongest feelings that he had ever seen, but also the 
completest control over them. And says the Mar- 
quis de Custine : 

"You could not speak with her a quarter of an hour without 
drawing from that fountain of light a shower of sparkles. The 
comic was at her command equally with the highest degree of the 
sublime. The proof that she was natural is, that she understood 
laughter as she did grief; she took it as a readier means of show- 
ing truth; all had its resonance in her, and her manner of receiv- 
ing the impressions which you wished to communicate to her mod- 
ified them in yourself; you loved her at first because she had 
admirable gifts ; and then, what prevailed over everything, because 
she was entertaining. She was nothing for you or she was all ; and 
she could be all to several at a time without exciting jealousy, so 
much did her noble nature participate in the source of all life, of 

all clearness Her friends asked of themselves, Whence 

came these flashes of genius which she threw from her in con- 
versation ? Was it the effect of long studies ? Was it the effect 
of sudden inspirations? It was the intuition granted as recom- 
pense by Heaven to souls that are true." 

Of herself, she said, " To me it was appointed not 
to write or act, but to live." And, certainly, those 
who knew her, found in her presence alone, proof 
that she did, in her way, transcendently live. Car- 
lyle, after thinking long on the wondrous witchery 
of the style of self-revealment, so free from blazon 
and yet so expressive, which she represented, was 
moved to say : 

" Silence too is great; there should be great silent ones, too." 

A personal atmosphere, which was of no such 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 295 

exalted quality as that of Rahel, but which, notwith- 
standing its comparative inferiority, was amazingly 
spell-like to the object whereon it was unresistedly 
brought to bear, was that possessed by Catherine 
Sedley. Macaulaj-, in the second volume of his 
History of England, refers to the power which she 
exercised over King James, whenever he came within 
the compass of her presence. Personal charms she 
had not, with the exception only of her brilliant 
eyes. Her form was spare and angular, and her 
countenance was haggard. She was wont to make 
a jest of her own homeliness of person. True, how- 
ever, to that instinctive tendency to decoration, 
which belongs to the soul of woman, she was fond 
of attiring herself with gaudy adornments. 

Catherine seems to have been astonished when she 
thought of the great influence she exerted on the 
king. And, as if seeking for an explanation of it, 
she said, " It cannot be my beauty, for he must see 
that I have none ; and it cannot be my wit, for he 
has not enough to know that I have any." James 
was so attracted and so bewitched by that slim, lean 
woman, as to determine to advance her to the rank 
of a countess. Queen Mary, having come to know 
how he felt toward her, gave place to a deep re- 
sentment, and would not be satisfied with anything 
short of her departure into exile. James finally 
agreed to this ; but when he sent her his command 
to go away, and with it his farewell, he sent also the 
words, "I know too well the power you have over 
me. I have not strength of mind enough to keep 
my resolution if I see you." 



296 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

III. 

THE EYE, AS CONNECTED WITH PRESENCE. 

" The rays, as some think, sent from the eyes, carry certain 
spiritual vapors with them, and so infect the other party, and that 
in a moment." Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy, p. 469. 

" While thus he spake, his eye, dwelling on mine, 
Drew me, with power upon me, till I grew 
One with him, to believe as he believed." 

Tennyson, The Holy Grail. 

A FAMOUS thing in presence is the organ of vision. 
In all historic times, the fact has been well known 
that through this organ one mind can express its 
thought, its feeling, its purpose, its energy or its 
tire, if it have any, — can, indeed, throw either of 
these forth with a special readiness and directness, 
and powerfully influence therewith some other mind 
or minds. Do you think the simple statement of this 
fact would have surprised Jacob or the younger 
daughter of Laban ? Do you believe it would have 
seemed strange to Boaz or Ruth, to Menelaus or 
Helen, to Antony or Cleopatra, to Swift or Stella? 
Surely, ocular expression, as a fact included in pres- 
ence, has been understood ever since love has been 
a power in this world. And yet, only a little has 
been said of it in any books save those of poets and 
novelists, and all that has been said of it in these 
seems to have made no great impression. Emerson 
has given a page or two to the topic, and, according 
to his custom as a writer, has said much in a little 
space. Here is a selection, showing how suggestive- 
ly he talks on it : 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 297 

"The glance is natural magic. TVe look into the eyes to know 
if this other form is another self, and the eyes will not lie, hut 
make a faithful confession what inhabitant is there. The revela- 
tions are sometimes terrific. The confession of a low, usurping 
devil is there made, and the observer shall seem to feel the stirring 
of owls, and bats, and horned hoofs, where he looked for innocence 
and simplicity." 

There are two philosophic authors of English 
fame who deserve honor for not having let the same 
topic utterly escape their attention. I refer to Lord 
Bacon and quaint Robert Burton. The former re- 
marks that there are two affections which tend 
especially to draw the spirits into the eyes, and that 
they are love and envy. " The aspects," he says, 
" which procure love are not gazings, but sadden 
glances and dartings of the'eye." He teaches that 
envy emits some malign and poisonous spirit, " which 
taketh hold of the spirit of another," and is " of 
greatest force when the cast of the e}-e is oblique." 

But observe some of the striking instances cited 
by Burton, as illustrative of the expression of 
thought and passion through the eye. There was 
Stratocles, a blear-eyed physician, who had been a 
woman-hater all his years, and a bitter persecutor 
of the entire female sex. Wherever he went, he 
had been wont to mock them in vile terms. "Yet 
this old doting fool," says Burton, "was taken at 
last with that celestial and divine look of Myrilla, 
the daughter of Anticles the gardener — that smirk- 
ing wench, — that he shaved off his bushy beard, 
painted his face, curled his hair, wore a laurel crown 
to cover his bald pate, and for her love besides was 
ready to run mad. 1 ' According to Plotinus, love is 
derived from sight. One ancient writer calls the 



298 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

eyes the " harbingers of love," and another the 
" hooks of love." The mistress of Philostratus 
Lemnius had such power over him by her basilisk 
eyes, that he once exclaimed to her, "What a tyr- 
anny, what a penetration of bodies is this ! " Sue- 
tonius describes the eyes of Augustus Caesar as 
having possessed such brightness that they com- 
pelled spectators to look away from them ; indeed, 
spectators could no more endure them than they 
could the direct beams of the sun. Euryalus and 
Lucretia became enamored of each other by the eye, 
and were thus prepared to entertain each other 
before they had interchanged a word. And of the 
Thracian Rodolphe, it is stated by Calisiris that if 
she had but looked on' any one she would almost 
have bewitched him, despite all his power of re- 
sistance. 

The eye, it must be admitted, is preeminently 
intimate with the intellect. It is the shortest av- 
enue between the inner man and the open world. 
And, for this reason, there is propriety in calling it 
the finest organ of the frame. How indicative it is 
of mind ! How mind-like it is in its way of work- 
ing ! One does not feel the sensation involved in 
vision. The light reflected from an object to the 
retina produces no titillation there. Who could 
know, by any effect felt in his eye, that the image 
of what he turns to behold is formed on a real sur- 
face existing far back in that vitalized ball ? When 
you perceive by the sense of touch, you feel, or 
seem to feel, the impression made by the object on 
your fingers before } t ou take cognizance of the ob- 
ject with your mind ; and when you snuff an odor, 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 299 

you are conscious of a sensation of smell as con- 
nected with your nostrils, before you are conscious 
of a recognition of smell by your knowing nature. 
But when have you ever realized any distinction 
whatever between sensation and perception in an 
act of seeing ? 

Consider, now, how weighty a fact we have ! All 
day long the retina of a person receives impressions. 
Ten thousand would be less than the number of 
images formed on it between every morning and the 
night which follows it. The person looks toward 
the forest, and on that interior part of his eye it is 
at once imprinted. He meets men, and in a moment 
they are pictured there. He passes by horses and 
vehicles, and quick as thought they are photo- 
graphed there. The noble ox treads leisurely near 
the quiet spot where this person pauses for observa- 
tion, and lo ! an image of the robust animal instantly 
comes into existence on the same interior surface. 
What a variety of shapes are in rapid succession 
delineated on that strange membrane, that marvel- 
ous retina! On it is the figure of the little insect as 
it flits ; the shape of the wind-tossed leaf as it nods ; 
the form of the fair-feathered bird as it flies or as it 
hops. There, too, as the process of seeing goes on, 
are at one moment images of houses standing in their 
pride ; at another moment, images of rocky heights, 
towering in long and steep ranges, which are per- 
haps shaggy with storm-scarred trees ; at still an- 
other moment, images of fields of soft grass or of 
young corn, steeping in the summer sunshine ; and 
at still another moment, images of waters speeding 
with cataract leaps down their circuitous course. 



300 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

And yet all these various imprints, shapes, images, 
have not the least tiring effect — nay, have no felt 
effect of any kind — on the retina. Surely, then, 
there is a great intimacy between the eye and the 
perceiving nature which is behind it. 

Now, by reapon of this intimate relationship, the 
visual organ is the most convenient, most direct, 
and most available of all the physical channels of 
soul-evolved effluence. What more renowned out- 
let than that is there for the penetrating force which 
makes presence effective ? Persons use their eyes 
far oftener than they are aware for the purpose of 
producing impressions on others. How many times 
every day does one look at another who is near him 
in order that he may, by so doing, influence him ! 
How frequently is the eye employed to help words 
do their bidding ! Wirt, in his biography of Patrick 
Henry, tells of the aid which that orator was accus- 
tomed, while making his forensic efforts, to derive 
from his eyes. They were bluish-gray, and were 
not large ; but they were full of spirit, were bril- 
liant, and were marked by a rapidly-shifting and 
potent manner of expression. At one time they 
were "piercing and terrible as those of Mars, and 
then again soft and tender as those of Pity herself." 
By means of them he rendered his pauses exceed- 
ingly impressive. "These came always," says that 
biographer, " at the right moment, and were always 
filled by the speaker with a matchless energy of 
look, which drove the thought home through the 
mind and through the heart." 

Who has not noticed to what an extent oratory is 
emasculated and cheapened by disallowing the eyes 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 301 

their proper freedom in the hour of public address ? 
The preacher who reads his sermons virtually ob- 
structs the most convenient route through which 
his intellectual power can be conveyed to assembled 
men. And this is the result : much of the contents 
of every one of his sermons dies on the dull air, 
while not a few of his auditors, oblivious to what he 
is saying, are letting their ungirded minds fly away 
like birds or wander like bees. 

See yonder sad and halting blind man. Very 
poor in expression is his face. He smiles, but 
scarcely a ray comes from his smile to move you. 
He speaks, but his word is accompanied by no 
power that renders it thrilling. You stand before 
him in silence, and gaze at his blank countenance. 
How still is his head ! What a bald solemnity, what 
a dreariness, as of an herbless sand-plain, character- 
izes his visage ! Why is his look, his utterance, his 
manner, so unengaging? Why, in short, is his 
presence so lacking in energizing force ? One rea- 
son is the simple fact that he is destitute of the 
chief channel through which the soul sheds mag- 
netism ; and another is the fact that the absence of 
that channel has occasioned a lack of exertion on 
his part to cultivate personal impressiveness. He 
might, though eyeless, have made for himself an 
atmosphere invigorating to all that should have ap- 
proached him ; but he either perceived not the pos- 
sibility of so doing, or came short of being ad- 
equately stimulated to realize the same. 

Let the eye be wanting in any case, and, unless 
other routes for soul-energy are cleared and kept 
open, presence in the case will be incommunicative 



302 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

and bleak. Through the bright orb of sight there 
comes something which fails not to command more 
or less acknowledgment. " The eyes," says Salvia- 
nus, "are the windows of our souls." Lord Bacon 
affirms that "fascination is ever by the eye." 
"Eyes," says Emerson, "are as bold as lions, roving, 
running, leaping here and there, far and near. They 
speak all languages. They wait for no introduction ; 
they are no Englishmen — ask no leave of age or 
rank ; they respect neither poverty nor riches, nei- 
ther learning, nor power, nor virtue, nor sex, but 
intrude and come again and go through and through 
you in a moment of time. What inundation of life 
and thought is discharged from one soul into another 
through them ! " 

The agent behind the eye — that self-knowing 
substance which sends out through this channel the 
magnetic principle — can use it mightily for good 
purposes or mightily for bad ones. " He that hath 
a clear eye," says Ficinus, "though he be otherwise 
deformed, by often looking upon him will make one 
mad, and tie him fast to him by the eye." Philos- 
tratus relates of an Ephesian person, that he had so 
pernicious an eye he poisoned all he looked steadily 
on. And Burton (whose citations serve me so 
well) quotes from Castilio the statement that wan- 
dering, wanton, adulterous eyes lie still as so many 
soldiers, and when they spy an innocent spectator 
fixed on them, shoot him through and presently 
bewitch him, especially when they shall gaze and 
gloat as wanton lovers do one upon another, and 
with a pleasant eye-conflict participate each other's 
souls." In Hawthorne's novel, The Scarlet Letter, 



THE MYSTIC PEESONALTY. 303 

Roger Chillingworth is pictured as making it his 
continual task to read what was in the heart of 
Arthur Dimrasdale, a fine-natured, eloquent min- 
ister, who was guilty of a secret crime — that of un- 
chastity. As he prosecuted that task, and day after 
day, like a hound of fate, penetrated, by means of 
his resolute, keen, irresistible eyes, into the recesses 
of Dimmsclale's bosom, that unhappy man grew 
faint and feeble, lost his interest in the wonders 
wrought by his own eloquence, and became at 
length almost insane. He is described as having 
finally expired while in the act of confessing his 
crime. 

The eye admits of an availableness full as great 
for praiseworthy ends. It can be used in putting 
back impertinence, in shaming insolence, and in 
driving the boldness out of baseness. Bad persons 
have been shot down and riddled with glances. 
The magnetic current which finds way. out through 
this channel is sometimes like lightning, and some- 
times like the effluent ball of a fire-lock weapon. 

There is a look of peace and a look of trouble ; 
there is a glance of confidence and a glance of shy- 
ness. Through the eye passion always first comes 
forth to make itself felt. The earliest manifestation 
of courage when it has begun to glow, of impatience 
when it has begun to be feverish, of enthusiasm 
when it has begun to flame up, and of the desire of 
revenge when it has begun to demand to be filled, 
is there made. There Impulse, Fancy, Mirth, Joy, 
Hope, and Fear soonest peep out and reveal them- 
selves. And, in many an instance of the expression 
of either of these through that organ, it would be 



304 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

only necessary to let fall the eyelid and to hold this 
soft curtain down, in order to intercept completely 
the revealment. "Love, anger, pride, and avarice, 
all," says Addison, " visibly move in those little 
orbs." He says, moreover, that he knew a young 
lady who could not see a certain gentleman pass by 
without indicating a secret wish to see him again by 
a dance in her eyeballs ; nay, that she could not, for 
the heart of her, help looking half a street's length 
after any man in a gay dress. 

All the tendencies, and all the guarded secrets of 
the soul, are somehow expressed through the eye ; 
and he who has skilled himself in reading, by means 
of his own visual organ, what the mind or the heart 
of another shows through his visual organ, will not 
often read incorrectly. The polish of the refined 
person can be quickest known by looking at his eye, 
and the repulsive crudity of the vulgar sneak most 
readily perceived by looking at his. Homer em- 
ploys the phrase, "the ox-eyed, venerable Juno." 
It is strikingly significant and admirably appropriate. 
He had seen the serenity usually visible in the dark 
eye of the grand ox, — that serenity which suggests the 
repose of solid strength, and which implies a nature 
large, deep, and hale. And knowing well that, in a 
poet's ideal, the wife of Jupiter should not have an 
eye like that of a cat, or like that of a hawk, or like 
that of a sheep, but the eye of a goddess-queen, 
whose soul was calm, gentle, and magnanimous, he 
described her as ox-eyed and venerable. 

To eye-expression and its results there appertain 
unnumbered curious points. Go among strangers, 
and you will for a time be disconcerted somewhat 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 305 

by their gaze, and will find it difficult to appear like 
your very self. Your eyes will often waver and 
want a screen. In vain will you try to be rid cf 
your uneasiness ; in vain will you endeavor to wear 
a sunny and gladsome look. The knowledge that 
bright vision-orbs are directed toward you, with an 
expression which is the noiseless, persevering quest 
of minds that would see what you are before either 
trusting or distrusting you — this is the explanation 
of your unrepose, your embarrassment. Oh, could 
you be as self-collected as you wish you might be, 
before the soul-lighted eyes that look at you, and 
could you, in the sight of those living, moving, 
shining spheres set beneath human brows, stand or 
act with a spirit not in the least degree disquieted 
— nay, with a simple, graceful ease, like that with 
which you used to endure the studious gaze of 
strangers when you were a child ! But this is im- 
possible. Accordingly, to the cold, close-searching 
scrutiny which goes on, you submit as well as you 
can. Meanwhile, in every one of those prying eyes 
an image of you is taken, and, in the secret place 
where it is formed, is subjected over and over again 
to a careful examination. 

Just so has many a lonely wanderer into new 
scenes and new society been discomposed and put 
into a state of painful constraint, by minds peering 
at him through eyes made frigid and hard by inquis- 
itiveness. And who of all that have ever had this 
experience, was able, while in the process of having 
it, to avoid taking on looks and manners unusual to 
him ? 

There are, it is true, some persons who seem to be 
20 



306 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

perfectly exempt from all liability to embarrassment 
from the cause mentioned. They move about among 
strangers, or stand before them, with eyes apparently 
so endowed with strength that there is no wavering 
on the part of them, and with inner susceptibilities 
apparently under such control that they are in no 
wdse disturbed. The art seems to be theirs, of hap- 
pily receiving keen, exploring glances, and softening 
to a mellow mildness the eyes out of which they are 
darted. They do not sternly penetrate others with 
their look. Jean Paul speaks of " an eye which not 
so much penetrates as lets everything penetrate it." 
Of the species thus described, are, perhaps, their 
eyes. One could all day feel at ease, either in gazing 
at them, or in being an object of their gaze. With 
a pleasant sense of self-possession, one could arrange 
a matter of business, talk on a topic of passing inter- 
est, or remain silent, with any individual of the class. 
Many of those comprised in it are 

. . . "Broad and honest, 
Breathing an easy gladness." 

But who, after all, can think that such persons are 
never stirred, never thrilled, never pained, never 
agitated by force flung out through eyes ? Certain 
it is, no human being has ever yet lived, that could, 
while capable of sight and of thought, move among 
others, or stand before them, and at the same time 
be totally indifferent to their ocular expression. 

Under mental power which has emanated by way 
of the visual organ, what changes have come to 
pass ! what affinities and alliances have sprung into 
existence ! what repulsions and disruptions have 



THE MYSTIC PEBSONALTY. 307 

occurred ! People have often felt that they were 
pelted with looks ; and people have sometimes been 
made to smart under looks, even more perhaps than 
if there had been dealt to them successive strokes 
of a lash formed of stern words, and having a sting- 
ing rebuke for its cracker. By sudden glances, 
hearts have been congealed ; and by sudden glances 
hearts have been enkindled. Presence-force, exerted 
through the eye, has resulted in joys and griefs, in- 
spirations and depressions, successes and failures. 
By it, heroes have been melted, cowardly spirits 
have been benumbed, and tyrants have been as 
much dismayed as if stricken with a scorpion whip. 
Brave were the Roman soldiers in their pursuit after 
the tranquil One, till they had found him. Then, as 
he stepped forward, and met them, and looked at 
them, and said, "I am he,'" they ivent backward and 
fell to the ground. O eyes of Jesus ! how did men 
and women receive, through them, rays that reproved 
and rays that cheered, long centuries ago ! How, 
through them, came that which drove Hypocrisy 
away, blushing with shameful bewilderment, from 
the erring female whom its cruel hands were about 
to stone to death ! And how, through them, when 
Lazarus lay in his grave and his two sisters were sor- 
rowing over his decease, did there come for the com- 
forting of their hearts an effluence thrillingly sweet! 
All the brute-creatures look at man eye to eye. 
Why is it so ? Why do they not peer at some other 
part, rather than at that part, of the body ? If one 
should travel to the banks of the Leeambj^e, in Cen- 
tral Africa, and let the beautiful eland or zebra that 
goes there to drink behold him ; or if he should wan- 



308 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

der far into some South American forest, and in the 
depth thereof rouse a wild panther from its retreat ; 
or if he should visit the famed Nile, and confront a 
huge crocodile on its shore, — in each case, the gaze 
of the startled beast would be aimed first at the 
beaming orbs set beneath his forehead. Ah ! w T hat 
is that which causes every animal under heaven that 
looks at man, to peer directly into his eye ? It is 
because the spirit shows itself chiefly there. 

When a brute and a man look at each other, the 
former plainly acknowledges the mental power of 
the latter — at least so much of the same as it sees 
in his gleaming eye. The cat, the dog, and every 
other dumb creature, will, if you look steadily into 
its eye, turn its head away from you. I know an 
instance in which a dog was made to bark by noth- 
ing more than the continuous gaze of its master, 
fixed and concentrated on its visual organ. You have 
read of the conquering force of a firm, unyielding 
look of the human eye, when aimed at that of the 
fierce, hungry beast of the forest or of the desert, 
whose lithe form was in position for a deadly spring. 
Is it unphilosophic to believe that brute-ferocity has 
been thus overmastered ? Have not even ferocious 
men sometimes been conquered in like manner, by 
the look which would not yield to them ? 

The continual and skillful use of the eye is indis- 
pensable to success in conversation. How often does 
ocular expression beautifully fill up the vacancies, 
the gaps, and the hyatuses which occur along the 
course of the talker's talk ! Moments there are 
when one perfectly tells through his eye that which 
he might find it impossible to tell otherwise. 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 309 

A like use of the organ of sight is indispensable, 
also, to success in the exercise of school-government. 
All good teachers Lear sway over their pupils, chiefly 
by emitting and projecting soul-energy — emitting 
it in looks, projecting it in glances. 

A similar employment of the eye is, as I have 
already more than intimated, essential to success in 
public speaking. The true orator does not speak by 
his voice and his gestures alone ; he often speaks 
chiefly by his eyes. When Webster, in his reply to 
Hayne, referred pathetically to his own State, the 
group of Massachusetts men that sat near him were 
touched to the heart ; but their emotions did not rise 
beyond their control till the grand orator turned his 
eyes full on them, and then (as a describer of the 
scene says) " they shed tears like girls." 

I have already adverted to pulpit deliverances, 
unaided by eye-expression. Here, I advert to them 
again. Far too much preaching there is which 
reaches not the souls of men, for the want of suffi- 
cient mental force exerted through the eyes. Take 
advice, ye scholarly clergymen, who read all your 
sermons ! I know ye would not spend in vain your 
intelligent breath before the people. Ye Avould utter, 
I doubt not, from the consecrated desks behind which 
you stand, words fitted to chase worldly cares out 
of the hearts of men and women, and to produce in 
those hearts the great longing which is the harbin- 
ger of a better life. And }^e would have a health} 1 - 
religious stir around you all the year. Now, why 
have you so many "dear hearers," that hear with 
attentiveness so little that ye say ? Hard enough 
during the week do ye work to prepare for the Sab- 



310 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

bath — that day on which needy souls wait to be 
spiritually fed by you ; and when the Sabbath comes, 
ye cast forth the bread ye have made ready. But, 
alas ! in the time of dispensing it, only a few have 
any care to receive it. Oh, why do ye not acquire 
the art of so delivering sermons that people must 
attentively hear them ? — the art of so feeding your 
bread to your flocks as to make them take it and be 
glad? 

The preacher needs a piercing glance to render his 
utterance piercing, and a glance of mild earnestness 
to render his utterance effectively tender. Very 
weak are his words without something through his 
eyes to help them. Less should he read from his 
desk, and more should he speak therefrom — speak 
as one who combines ocular expression with verbal ; 
speak with the seeing organ as well as with the 
vocal apparatus, and with soul-evolved effluence 
making its way out through both at once. 

Think what a failure Paul's effort on Mars' Hill 
would have been, had he merely read to his audience 
his thoughts concerning God and Christ, the resur- 
rection and the judgment-day ! Think how little 
like himself Patrick Henry would have appeared, 
had he merely read to the assembly that was before 
him his speech which ends with the words, "liberty 
or death ! " Ah ! how pitiful a thing it is, that so 
many true and fine sentiments have fallen stillborn 
from the lips of toilsome sermon-readers in this 
world ! And will not preachers learn to address 
mortals in the better way ? Will they still hope to 
move the present generation of earth-loving hearts, 
by discoursing to them exclusively from a manu- 
script ? 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 311 

It is true, some reading preachers are successful ; 
but their success will be found to depend, to no in- 
considerable extent, on the occasional exertion of 
their souls through their eyes. Running the risk of 
repeating what has already been said on these pages, 
I affirm that not by bare words can men be stirred 
or roused ; and not even by words, assisted solely 
by superior action. The look and the glance, the 
awakening gaze and the electrifjdng gleam of the 
eye, are needful in all efforts before audiences. 
Blindfold a gifted orator, and you would disable him 
for success in public speaking, almost as much as 
Samson was disabled by the removal of his locks. 
Webster could make a powerful speech while one 
of his arms was in a sling ; for it is related that he 
once did this. But does any one suppose Webster 
could have spoken mightily, with his great black 
e} r es fixed on a manuscript? 

A few other points appertaining to ocular expres- 
sion claim attention. Consider how many volumes 
might be made up of what is this day silently com- 
municated by one fond soul to another through the 
eye. There lives a meaning which he who has never 
been a lover scarcely knows how to appreciate, in 
those words of Byron : 

"And eyes looked love to eyes which spoke again." 

" Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine 
eyes," says the author of Solomon s Song. And, in 
this sentence, is there not told something that most 
persons have felt ? 

Interesting is it to observe what the poets and the 
novelists have written concerning eyes. Some of 



312 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

them, we shall perhaps find, have duly recognized 
the connection of the visual organ with presence. 
"Vain and forgotten," says Emerson in one of his 
pieces of poetic prose, " are all the fine offers and 
offices of hospitality unless there is a holiday in the 
eye." An Oriental writer likens wanton eyes to 
" blue water-lilies agitated by the breezes." In Lalla 
Rookh, Moore makes one of his characters pay a 
tribute to a pair of eyes in these exquisite words : 

"To see 
Those virtuous eyes forever turned on me ; 
And in their light rechastened silently, 
Like the stained web that whitens in the sun, 
Grow pure by being purely shone upon." 

Sterne, in his Tristram Shandy, has an amusing pas- 
sage respecting the expressiveness of love-lit eyes. 
It is where he makes mention of the fact that 
Widow Wadman, having pretended to Uncle Toby 
that a troublesome mote had found way into her 
eye, signified to him the wish that he would look 
into it. And, " honest soul ! v says Sterne, " he did 
look into it, with as much innocence of heart as 
ever child looked into a raree-show box." But he 
found no mote there — found, indeed, nothing but 
"one lambent delicious fire, furtively shooting out 
from every point of it, in all directions, into his 
own." Moore, interpreting the language of the 
black eye and of the blue, vivaciously says : 

"The brilliant black eye 

May in triumph let fly 
All its darts without caring who feels 'em ; 

But the soft eye of blue, 

Though it scatter wounds too, 
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em. 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 313 

" The black eye may say, 

' Come and worship my ray — 
By adoring, perhaps you may move me.' 

But the blue eye, half hid, 

Says from under its lid, 
' I love, and am yours if you love me.' " 

The story which is on record in reference to the 
famous engineer, George Stephenson, is interest- 
ingly suggestive. Being asked what he considered 
the most powerful force in nature, he said : " I will 
answer that question. It is the eye of a woman to 
the man that loves her ; for if a woman looks with 
affection on a man, should he go to the uttermost 
ends of the earth, the recollection of that look would 
bring him back." There are those who many a time 
have sat apart in mortal assemblies, indifferent to 
whatever voice may have been exercised in their 
hearing ; experiencing no weariness in their seats ; 
remaining entirely quiet all the long while, and yet 
being at one moment sad and at another moment glad, 
now anxiously in doubt and now again in possession 
of the clearest assurance, or perhaps now sweetly be- 
wildered and now again eager for a repetition of the 
same bewilderment. Dear loving souls ! how they 
lived in each other ! How they told their feelings, 
each to each, through their eyes ! Heaven bless all 
such to the end of years ! 



314 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

IV. 

THE WEIGHTY PRESENCE. 

"Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray." 

Goldsmith, The Deserted Village. 

That species of presence which is chiefly char- 
acterized by weight or weightiness, claims some meas- 
ure of careful attention. There are weighty souls, 
and there are light souls ; and the contrast between 
the two classes, whenever it is known by experience, 
seems as great as that which one would realize if 
he should hold a lump of gold in his right hand and 
a bunch of feathers in his left. All ability that is 
substantial, tends to give ponderousness to presence. 
Dignity, when it is without sign or symbol of pre- 
tense, is the habitual bearing of an able, self-col- 
lected, majestic nature. It is an abiding constituent 
of the weighty presence. The really dignified are 
they who have deep minds, and who are accustomed 
to engage in noble business ; and whenever you 
enter the circle of their personal atmospheres, you 
become sedate, just as when you enter a solemn 
forest you become so. This is what explains how 
Pythagoras so won the regard of his pupils that one 
of them lay down and died, because he reproved 
him before his mates ; how Columbus overawed the 
mutineers on the vessels of his fleet, and, in spite 
of all their murderous discontent and plotting, man- 
aged to reach the goal of his ambition ; how Napo- 
leon the First wrought out of what seemed common 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 315 

stuff such marshals as Ney ; and how Washington 
was able to produce such emotions of reverence and 
awe, in all who met him face to face. Emerson, in 
his English Traits, quotes the terse remark of An- 
tony Wood, concerning Sir Kenelm Digby, a valiant 
courtier of Charles and of James, and " a model Eng- 
lishman in his day," that, u had he been dropt out of 
the clouds in any part of the world, he would have 
made himself respected." 

It is not dignity alone that works such wonders; 
it is dignity aided by the magnetic " virtue" which 
has its source in the interior region cf human nature. 
The one is the constituent of the weighty presence, 
which is felt ; the other is the constituent of it which 
is seen. The one belongs to personality, the other to 
person ; the one is force, the other accompaniment. 
These two must ever go together to constitute a 
fitness to command. The private soldiers will soon 
learn to set at naught the authority of their leader, 
if he have dignity without magnetism. The audience 
will soon become indifferent to their speaker, if he 
have oratory without soul-evolved effluence. The 
pupils will not long delay to drown their teacher's 
mandates and counsels in the buzzing, swelling noise 
of their own unrestrained lips, nor long withhold 
themselves, it may be, from the attempt to tumble 
him out-doors, if he have the form of government 
without the power thereof. And so it ever is when 
presence has all its weigh tiness in assumed appear- 
ances and modes. The finer prerequisite to success- 
ful ascendency or sway, is always a penetrating 
energy which goes forth from within. Shakespeare 
brings out this truth in his play of Antony and Cleo- 



816 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

patra. He makes the Soothsayer tell some of his 
private thoughts to Antony, thus : 

" Soothsayer: 

Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side : 
Thy demon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
Where Caesar's is not ; but near him, thy angel 
Becomes a fear, as being o'er-powered; fherefore 
Make space enough between you. 

Antony : 

Speak this no more. 

Soothsayer : 

To none but thee ; no more, but when to thee. 

If thou dost play with him at any game 

Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck, 

He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy luster thickens 

Whence shines by; I say again, thy spirit 

Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 

But, he away, 'tis noble." 

The same truth has a vivid illustration in the in- 
stance of Caius Marius, who was taken prisoner in 
the marshes of the Liris. His captors sent a Gallic 
slave to him, with the commission to put him to 
death. The servile deputy, when he announced his 
fearful errand, found the great Roman sitting in 
the darkest corner of his prison-chamber. Marius 
looked at him with gleaming eyes, and in tones 
mightier than any that were ever known to succeed 
the lightning-flashes of material nature, answered 
him. The man threw down his sword and tied, 
declaring that it was impossible to kill the prisoner. 
Thomas de Quincey briefly relates, in the following 
words, the thrilling story : 

" He fascinated the slave, as a rattlesnake does a bird. Stand- 
ing ' like Teneriffe,' he smote him with his eye, and said, l Tunc, 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 317 

homo, audes occidere C. Marium? — Dost thou, fellow, presume 
to kill Caius Marius ? ' Whereat, the reptile, quaking under the 
voice, nor daring to affront the consular eye, sank gently to the 
ground, turned round on his hands and feet, and, crawling out of 
the prison like any other vermin, left Marius standing in solitude 
as steadfast and immovable as the eapitol." 

Partem says of Daniel Webster, that Agamemnon 
of orators : " His leading trait was his enormous 
physical magnetism." He should have said personal 
magnetism, instead of physical; for certainly, Web- 
ster's leading trait was inexpressibly superior to 
anything merely physical. To his description he 
adds the suggestive passages: 

" His presence overwhelmed criticism. It gave the public a 
sense of repose. When he passed up or down State Street, with 
his arm behind his back, business was brought to a stand-still." 

And Tefft, in his Webster and his Masterpieces, 
says of the same great orator and statesman : 

" Seen where he might be, whether in the Senate, or on the 
street, or in the largest gathering of the people, he was always the 
most magnificent specimen of a man present. . . . His movement 
was that of a superior being unconscious, or thoughtless, of his 
superiority." 

Once, after a political defeat, when his own New 
Hampshire had proved to be one of the States that 
had voted against him, Webster was traveling by 
railway to his home in Franklin, twenty miles be- 
yond Concord. At the latter place there was some 
detention of the train which was bearing him ; and, 
the report having spread through the town that he 
was in one of the cars, a large body of the citizens 
gathered at the depot, and called for him. His per- 



318 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

sistent refusal, for some time, to appear, caused the 
throng to become almost angry ; and his friends 
urged him to address them, even if he should say 
but a few words. At length, just before the train 
started, he came to the rear platform of the car, 
and, folding his arms on his breast, stood silent, 
looking with a stern, impressive eye on the crowd. 
" Every voice," says a narrator of the incident, 
" was hushed ; the loud cries died away into low 
murmurs. The giant of our hills, standing thus for 
a moment in silence before the people who had de- 
serted him, spoke a grander oration than though he 
had used many words, then slowly turned away, and 
the door closed on him. The crowd dispersed almost 
as silently." 

When William Wilberforce made his first cam- 
paign speech, in the county of York, against the 
India bill and the coalition ministry, he was a mere 
boy in appearance ; but he showed that he had the 
personal force, the soul-evolved effluence, which 
renders presence weighty and commanding. Bos- 
well, describing him and his effort, says : 

"I saw what seemed a shrimp mount on the table ; but, as I 
listened, he grew and grew until the shrimp became a whale." 

The examination of the weighty presence, with 
its two unmistakable constituents, dignity and mag- 
netism, — those prerequisites to the exercise of true 
authoritativeness, — leads naturally to some reflec- 
tions on that kind of ponderousness in presence, 
which is superficial, affected, false. This is marked 
by dignity and nothing better ; and when dignity 
goes alone, it is invariably an unmitigated sham. 



THE MYSTJC PERSONALTY. 319 

He that has no magnetic battery within himself, to 
give real impressiveness to his presence, can put on 
no .show of weight that will, to the eyes of wise 
men, seem more than worthless mimicry or parade. 
" Sham dignity " is the bearing with which he whose 
presence is pitifully lacking in soul-evolved effluence 
has learned to carry himself. In the case of aspiring 
conceit, that has contrived to gain official position, 
it is pomposity. In the case of wealth-blown medi- 
ocrity, it is superciliousness — that disdain of the 
ignoble rich for the toiling poor, which Victor Hugo 
calls " the slap-in- the-face from a distance." In the 
case of the religious pretender, it is sanctimonious- 
ness. 

Who has never noticed the style of that species 
of solemn majesty, which confidently shakes hands 
with Grandeur and with Fame, while its soul emits 
no more magnetism than a gourd or a potato ? Ever 
does the pretentious possessor of an inefficacious 
and tiresome presence tell what he is by his make- 
believe look and manner. Barren of that searching 
force by which all fine persons are able noiselessly 
to penetrate, to excite, and to thrill others, he pro- 
duces an effect like that of damp air on fuel. The 
latter gives forth too little of the element which 
makes wood burn ; the former gives forth too little 
of the element which makes souls burn. Many is 
the stiff-necked official who better knows the art of 
seeming to be something great when he is almost 
nothing, than he does the fact that genuine solidity 
of character is indicated by simplicity of bearing. 
Many is the fashion-follower who is far more expert 
in taking on airs of importance than in acting the 



320 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

part of a true man. Such, doubtless, was he who, 
when Sir William Johnson returned the salutation 
of a negro, reminded him that he had done what 
was very unfashionable. " Perhaps so," replied Sir 
William, " but I would not be outdone in good 
manners by a negro." 



V. 



RELATION OF INDEPENDENT SELF-EXERTION TO 
PRESENCE. 

" Then Saul, who also is called Paul, ... set his eyes on him," &c. 

Acts, xiii. 9. 

" And as she spake 
She sent the deathless passion in her eyes 
Through him, and made him hers, and laid her mind 
On him, and he believed in her belief." 

Tenktson. 

Sir Richard Steele, in describing the distin- 
guished Prince Eugene, says he appeared to have 
nothing in him but what every man should have in 
him, the exertion of his very self, abstracted from the 
circumstances in which fortune has placed him. Here 
is told the secret whereby one's personal atmos- 
phere may be made effective, and without which it 
will be more or less deficient in forcibleness. All 
the moving, stimulating, or controlling power which 
one soul directly exerts on or over another, all the 
penetrating energy conveyed by heroes in their 
eagle glance, is something sent out by a mental 



THE MYSTIC PEKSOSALTY. 321 

nature that has learned to be self-reliant. When 
Jesus, in the familiar instance recorded in the 22d 
chapter of Luke (v. 61, G2), " turned and looked upon 
Peter," and, by so doing, reached as with a current 
of fire to Peter's frozen heart and melted it, there 
was an exertion of the great Master's very self, re- 
sulting in the calm yet powerful expression which 
wrought that effect. 

To be engagingly significant, or, in other words, 
to make known magnetically what is in your soul, 
think not you must accumulate force, and then emit 
it. Do thus, and you will make j 7 our presence poor 
and attractionless. To arrest the outflow of energy 
is to stop its rise. This energy, as much as gravity 
or electricity, has its laws : and he who learns these 
will find that it never fails to come forth, and be 
itself, when the conditions of its complete arousal 
and outcome are fulfilled. Would you emit much 
of it ? Then bend } r our soul to the occasion, and 
teach it to prove itself awake and capable. Urge 
yourself out of the reverie-mood into that fresh, ani- 
mated, vigorous state in which there is a youthful 
eagerness for positive life. Not otherwise can one's 
personal atmosphere become cogent. Not otherwise 
can one render himself " radiant with arrowy vitali- 
ties, vivacities, and ingenuities." 

The true, virgin energy of souls is peculiar for 
this one thing, that, to be effective, it must be in 
the process of flowing or darting forth. The key to 
its influentialness — that which explains its evolve- 
ment from its native source, and all its service as a 
means of invigoration or of awakening — is inde- 
pendent self-exertion. As something out-sent, and, 
21 



322 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

at the same time, aimed at a mark, it is always 
availing, piercing, stimulating. But let it be held 
back and barred in, as if it were a fluid whose vol- 
ume can be increased by damming up its current, 
and the result will be deficiency and dreaminess. 
Potent effluxes of personal " virtue " can never be 
secured merely by an accumulative process within. 
There must be an essay of the soul outward — a 
bestirring of the latent might of the inner man for a 
purpose — an actual concentration of mental sub- 
stance and power, to an end. One should never, 
therefore, wait for the rise of energy. The way is 
to put it forth. Make independent self-exertion 
your rule, and then you will not fail to evoke some 
measure of puissance into your presence. Then you 
will show that you have an enterprising soul, that 
your nature is rich in something of the same kind as 
that which gives a gleam to heroes' eyes, and that 
with 

"High thought, and amiable words, 
And courtliness, and the desire of fame, 
And love of truth, and all that makes a man," 

you are constituting yourself able and masterful. 

That the evolvement by the soul of specially 
quickening energy is ever the result of independent 
self-exertion, will be evident on referring to the true 
explanation of what is called dullness. The dull 
presence is not rarely met ; and, perhaps, the most 
comprehensive account of it that can be given is, 
that it springs from a dearth or insufficiency of soul- 
evolved effluence. There is, in the case, an inaction 
of soul ; and that inaction occasions poverty on the 
part of the personal atmosphere. This is the reason 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 323 

of that wide difference in conversational impressive- 
ness which existed between Goldsmith and Burke, 
— Goldsmith, 

'• Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll," 

and Burke, whom (as Dr. Johnson once said) " no 
man could meet by accident under a gateway to 
avoid a shower, without being convinced that he 
was the first man in England." Persons there are 
whose souls seem to doze whenever they are in 
company. Physically, they have burst the bands of 
slumber ; but intellectuall} r , they are in the nest of 
Morpheus, with their faculties dormant and dreaming. 
Open eyes have they, but nothing soul-like looks 
from within through them. Sound and unobstruct- 
ed organs of speech have they, but nothing power- 
like attends the exercise of them. 

Thoreau says that " dullness is but another name 
for tameness." And, indeed, who is not tame when 
his soul gives forth no energy ? If 3*011 yield not 
this enlivening product, how consentingly will you 
be led from yes to yes, and from no to no, in every 
instance of social intercourse ! With what lifeless 
willingness will you be found agreeing with every 
one who, with the least measure of magnetism in his 
glance, thrusts his opinions on you ! Said the 
ancient orator, Celius, to one who, while supping 
with him, accepted all that he advanced in conver- 
sation : " For the love of the gods ! contradict me in 
something, that we may be two." Surely, to be 
dull is to be tame ; for it is to be in that state of the 
soul in which mere passiveness or neutrality has the 
place of manly, vigorous, adequate action, and in 



324 THE GREAT SLIGHTED- FORTUNE. 

which, consequently, there is a putting forth of 
nothing adapted to render mien and manners, port 
and speech, interesting. " If," says Montaigne, "it 
[i. e. the soul] be left to itself, it flags and languish- 
es: agitation only gives it grace and vigor." 

We may, then, lay it down as a practical truth, 
that the energetic presence and the dull presence 
are in contrast with each other. The former implies 
mental power in exercise ; the latter implies the 
absence of exerted mental power. In the one case, 
the personal atmosphere is like natural air in mo- 
tion ; in the other case, it is like natural air when it 
is sluggish and sultry, and when it causes those who 
inhale it to look round for some means of "raising 
a breeze." 



VI. 

FITFUL CONCENTRATION OF PERSONAL ENERGY. 

" The flighty purpose never is o'ertook 

Unless the deed go with it." Shakespeare. 

" Masters of the situation never do things by halves." 

James T. Fields, Lecture on Masters of the Situation. 

It is important to understand that there are active 
states of the inner man, resembling the one which 
is attended and indicated by a true outcome of ener- 
gy, while, forsooth, they are greatly unlike it. Com- 
pared with it, they are sparcely more than an evanes- 
cent burning or a dry briskness. While they are, 
perhaps, superior to that tameness which implies 
lack or absence of presence-force, they have not the 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 325 

needful thing which supports endeavor till a com- 
plete triumph is wrought. Of these, the one to 
which I here direct attention, is that in which per- 
sonal energy is fitfully concentrated. Force, in the 
case, is freely and strikingly emitted; but the evolve- 
ment of it is at the mercy of an unsteady, unperse- 
vering mind. There are persons who, at times, 
throw out jets of power. They start from a dreamy 
intellectual torpor, and bestir themselves as if they 
were about to bring to pass some excellent wonder ; 
but what is the result ? By their intense self-exer- 
tion they produce a part of the splendid whole which 
they have designed, and then suffer their effluent 
force to take a respite. The spasmodic effort is, 
after a while, followed by a like effort at some fresh 
task. There is, on the part of such persons, a con- 
centration of energy ; but it is fitful. They make 
brave attempts at doing, but invariably cease doing 
before, anything is roundly done. 

What an amount of promising intellectual strenu- 
ousness there is in the world, which is no more 
succeeded by solid performance than heat-lightning 
is by thunder ! He who only freakishly concentrates 
his personal force, falls far short of accomplishing 
any one of his high undertakings. Vain is the fer- 
vidness of his intellectual intensities. However 
bravely he may adventure to gain magnificent ends, 
he ever fails to reach them, — 

" Like ships that sailed for sunny isles, 
But never came to shore." 

Apply yourself forcibly only by fits and starts, and 
your best triumphs will deserve to be called failures. 



326 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE, 

It is no flash-effluence ; it is continuous exertion of 
interior " virtue," that gives rise to all fine fulfill- 
ments. Emerson, in his Conduct of Life, tells of a 
brave painter, who said to him : 

"If a man has failed, you will find he has dreamed instead of 
working. There is no way to success in our art, but to take off 
your coat, grind paint, and work like a digger on the railroad, all 
day, and every day." 

The chief intellectual fault of Coleridge was, that 
he was spasmodically energetic. His soul was one 
of superior order — one which, whenever it gave 
itself becomingly to action, evinced not only an intu- 
itional gift and a quick-discerning analytic power 
which were of exquisite quality, but also a poetic 
genius which was entitled to take rank even with 
that of Milton. It was a source of exalted magnet- 
ism. Had he but possessed the concentrativeness of 
a persevering thinker, had he but exemplified what 
Bayne calls " a sustained self-mastery," he would 
have wrought glorious productions, instead of mere 
extraordinary fragments. A lack there was, on his 
part, which kept him from continuing long enough 
at any one of his well-begun tasks. Lapsing ever 
too soon from exertion, he let himself come under a 
" numbing spell," such as that to which he alludes 
in his lines entitled The Garden of Boccaccio : 

. . . . " Bereft alike of grief and glee, 
I sate and cowered o'er my vacancy." 

Whenever he spoke or wrote on a subject, he 
emitted, in connection with his words, a winning 
witchery of soul; but the trouble was, he always pre- 
maturely discharged his theme. If there is any tree 
in the world which bears enchanting fruit, but never 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 327 

fails to drop its fruit to the ground before it has 
ripened, Coleridge was like that tree. The Ettric 
Shepherd, adverting to him in Nodes Ambrosianae, 
says suggestively, though much too caustically: 
"The author of Christabel and the Ancient Mariner 
had better just continue to see visions and to dream 
dreams, for he's no fit for the wakin' world." Doubt- 
less Coleridge himself told his fault, more concisely 
than any one else has ever done, when he said in his 
table-talk : 

"I have a smack of Hamlet myself, if I may say so." 



VII. 

UNIMPRESSIVE ENGAGEDNESS. 

"A great statesman once shot at a glib advocate, who was say- 
ing nothing with great fluency and at great length, by asking, 
' Who is this self-sufficient, all-sufficient, insufficient man? ' " 

E. P. Whipple, Character and Characteristic Men. 

" Correctly cold, and correctly dull, 

Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null." 

Anonymous. 

There is often manifested an active state of the 
soul, which, by reason that it resembles while in 
fact it has but little in common with a true mental 
awakening, may be denoted by the name — unimpres- 
sive engagedness. It is a state in which the magnetic 
capability seems to be almost absolutely inactive. 
The verbose haranguer, the affected, pimping talker, 
and the tiresome gossip, each is an expmplifier of it. 



828 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Who bas not known inveterate retailers of verbiage 
that said a thousand things which would have been 
deemed rare and fine if they had not said them ? 
Their thick-coming words were like the juiceless, 
lifeless leaves which are wafted against one by the 
wrinkling winds of autumn. Had they expressed 
new thought, it would have seemed trite ; had they 
told the most laughable anecdote in the world, it 
would have seemed a poor, flat thing — so small a 
measure of piercing, stirring energy did they put 
forth with their streams and floods of words. They 
had vocal activity, activity of features and of limbs, 
and — it cannot be denied — activity of mind. What, 
then, was wanting ? There was wanting the incisive 
effluence from within, which gives spirit and life to 
talk and manners, — the magnetic "virtue," which 
the human soul, whenever truly awake and active, 
evolves by the working of its own wondrous sub- 
stance. Without this, all engageclness connected 
with presence cannot but be unimpressive and 
tedious. 

How vain is oratory, and how like is it to " sound- 
ing brass or a tinkling cymbal," when the same high- 
born effluence flashes not in the speaker's eye, ani- 
mates not his gesture, imparts not elasticity and 
magic to his utterance ! Addison appropriately men- 
tions, under the designation of " speaking statues," 
the numerous wordy arguers and public debaters of 
his day, who made displays of unimpressive engaged- 
ness at bars and on platforms. The truth is, real 
eloquence, without personal magnetism, is simply 
impossible. There can be speech without this, — 
speech, of the same nature as the prate of Ther- 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 329 

sites, — speech, dry as the sunburnt dust of beaten 
roads ; but the oratory which is eloquence, coming 
with prevailing witchery from every feature and 
every gesture, and from the tongue, — the oratory 
that has 

"A power which awakens and a grace that charms," — 

this is inseparable from the magnetic principle. 

Cleomenes, an ancient discriminator between false 
eloquence and true, once burst out in laughter while 
hearing an orator declaim on valor ; and, the orator 
being moved to anger, Cleomenes said : " I should 
do the same if it were a swallow that spoke of this 
subject ; but if it were an eagle, I should willingly 
hear him." Antiquity furnishes also the suggestive 
instance, relative to the same point, of Polemon, a 
debauched young Grecian, who went by chance to 
hear one of the lectures of Xenocrates, and not only 
brought away the knowledge of some fine matter, 
but a more manifest and more solid profit, which was 
the sjdden change and reformation of his life. No 
unimpressive engagedness could have been there ; 
but magnetism, — that which oratory must ever bor- 
row in order to be potent and victorious, — magnet- 
ism must have been there. 

Henry Clay, by reason of the effluent "virtue" 
which he had taught himself to evolve, had an effec- 
tiveness in oratory that was indescribable. All his 
faculties and passions seemed " united in one power 
of personal impressiveness." And, "in Webster," 
says Whipple, "passion was a "fire which fused intel- 
lect and character into one tremendous personal force, 
and then burst out that resistless eloquence in which 



330 THE GftEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

words have the might and meaning of things — that 
true mental electricity not seen in dazzling zigzag 
flashes, not heard in a grand reverberating peal over 
the head, but in which, mingling the qualities of light 
and sound, the blue bright flame startles and stings 
the eye at the very moment the sharp crash pierces 
and stuns the ear." 

The effectiveness which Cromwell had in speech, 
is one of the notable facts in his history. Consid- 
ered according to the rules of elocutionary text-books, 
he was no orator. Polish he had not ; splendor of 
diction he had not. Who would ever think of mak- 
ing a collection of his oratorical passages, under the 
title of The Beauties of Cromwell? And yet, say 
what you will of him, it is certain he was pre- 
vailingly eloquent. Think of that occasion on which 
he confronted the Rump Parliament, and, by his 
powerful bearing and words, scattered them from 
their seats ! The Dutch had become weary of fight- 
ing against English war-ships, and had sued for peace ; 
but the Parliament, believing that the co.ijinued 
prosecution of the war would tend to restrict Crom- 
well's power, were disinclined to grant peace. Crom- 
well, knowing well the nature of the case, went, with 
three hundred soldiers at his back, to the hall ; and 
with an energy of will, of manner, and of utterance 
which was all-conquering, he denounced the mem- 
bers for their crimes against the public. He brought 
to bear against them, in his presence and language, 
the whole might of his soul. Stamping with his 
foot, he exclaimed : 

"For shame! Get you gone! Give place to honester men! 
I tell you you are no longer a Parliament; the Lord hath done 
with you ! " 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 331 

Then, ordering that the mace, which he designated 
as "that bauble," should be taken away, he and his 
soldiers looked on while the members withdrew ; and, 
to close the scene, he locked the door and put the 
key in his pocket. 

Now, this instance shows that the oratory which 
is pervaded with true personal magnetism, however 
much in conflict it may be with the rules of text- 
books, is true oratory. It is true, because there is 
that in it which causes men to yield and bend under 
it. I wonder not that Thomas Carlyle, in his work 
entitled Heroes and Hero -Worship, has expressed 
such admiration of Cromwell. He who, by his mar- 
velous presence-force, so deeply influenced men, could 
not but win the admiring regard of that brave lover 
of the brave. Among Carlyle's sayings of him are 
these : " His heart was the heart of a man who 
could pray." " With that rude, passionate voice, he 
was always understood to mean something, and men 
asked to know what." " If the words were true 
words, they could be left to shift for themselves." 
And the speeches of that hero he calls " rugged 
bursts of earnestness." 

The effect produced by Cromwell's orator}^, and 
(to speak gen erically) the effect produced by all 
moving oratory, has its comprehensive explanation 
in that aphorism of Emerson : " Words have weight 
when there is a man behind them." 



332 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



VIII. 

CHAOTIC DISCOMPOSURE. 

" When all that is within him does condemn 
Itself for being there." Shakespeare. 

" Many a brave fellow, who has put his enemy to flight in the 
field, has been in the utmost disorder on making a speech before a 
body of his friends at home." The Spectator, No. 231. 

"We are embarrassed when there is some bar or hinderance 
upon us, which impedes our powers of thought, speech, or motion." 
Webster's Unabridged Pictorial Dictionary ', p. 438. 

" Presence of mind [is] a calm, collected state of the mind, with 
its faculties under control; [an] undisturbed state of the thoughts, 
which enables a person to speak or act without disorder or embar- 
rassment in unexpected difficulties ; [a] freedom from the disturb- 
ing or distracting influences which arise from fear or undue ex- 
citement of any kind." Ibid., p. 1031. 

Some consideration may well be given to that 
state of the soul, frequently exemplified, in which it 
is active only in the sense of actiug distractedly. I 
do not refer, here, to the wild agitation of passion- 
ate fury ; I refer, rather, to that bewilderment 
wherein the intellectual faculties seem to have sud- 
denly taken fright, and there is a wretched ebbing 
of personal force. The state directly opposite to it 
is commonly called presence of mind. The former 
may be viewed as negative ; the latter as positive. 
The one is the state of utter embarrassment, the 
other the state of manly self-possession. 

Have you never seen a person who was subject to 
inner confusions ? Ah ! what a pallor and what 
a trepidation did often characterize him ! What a 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 333 

complete losing, for a time, of all consciousness of 
capability, — what a scattering of thought — what a 
crazing of the pulses — in short, what a chaotic dis- 
composure on his part did he often experience ! A 
human being, in the moment when his very will 
seems to be panic-stricken and in process of fleeing 
away, is a pitiful sight. There has, indeed, been a 
serious lack in one's development, if he cannot with 
some collecteclness and assurance abide any hour of 
emergency. Said Seneca : 

" He is most potent who has himself in his own power." 

Useful is it to contemplate the manner in which 
that noble representative of self-possession, Michael 
Montaigne, was accustomed, in times of sudden trial 
of soul, to maintain his mastery over himself, and by 
so doing, preserve undiminished the efficaciousness 
of his presence. There were unlooked-for seasons 
of thrilling danger to his person and life, in which 
his chances of safe escape were fearfully few, but in 
which, by reason of his self-control and composure, 
he obtained deliverance from circumstances wherein 
others would have failed and fallen. " It has often 
happened to me," he says, " that on the mere credit 
of my presence and air, persons, who had no manner 
of knowledge of me, have put a very great confi- 
dence in me, whether in their own affairs or mine ; 
and I have, in foreign parts, thence obtained favors 
singular and rare." Once, while he was journeying 
" through a very fickle country," he was arrested 
by a band of soldiers, that knew not who he was. 
They bore him into the depth of a neighboring for- 
est, robbed him, and then for some time debated 



334 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

whether to deprive him of life. With unconfused 
soul he insisted on having his liberty, grounding his 
plea on a certain trace which had been newly pub- 
lished in the army, and protesting against their 
having more than the property they had already 
wrested from him. After two or three hours, they 
mounted him on a jaded horse, and, separating his 
servants from him, led them off in different direc- 
tions. But, by and by, the leader of the band re- 
turned, and began to address him in milder language. 
He restored to him, so far as it was possible, his 
goods ; then, removing his visor and giving Mon- 
taigne his name, he told him repeatedly that he 
owed his deliverance to his countenance and the free- 
dom and firmness of his words, which rendered him 
worthy the continuance of his liberty and life. 

There are many who have a just appreciation of 
the trait of self-possession. Fathers can be found, 
who are endeavoring so to train their sons that, in 
the time that shall unexpectedly supply some ex- 
traordinary test of their ability, they will not shrink, 
and crouch, and become chaotically discomposed, 
but will preserve the collected state of their facul- 
ties. ''Presence of mind" is universally held in 
honor ; and every wise man, to whom God has given 
a well-made boy, will often be seen putting the in- 
experienced youngster where he will be pressed 
and proved by circumstances, and where he will be 
likely to learn " to have himself in his own power." 
Thus, in a manner, does the parent-eagle cause her 
young to acquire the courage and the adroitness 
essential to adventurous flight. She " stirreth up 
her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreacleth 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 335 

abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on 
her wings," * that she may insure to them boldness 
and skill. And this method of eagle-tuition suggests 
much that is adapted to improve the good sense of 
every father who would insure to his son firmness 
of character and credit of presence. 



IX. 

THE EFFECT ON PRESENCE OF FASHION AND 
FRIVOLITY. 

" Custom would never conquer Nature, for she is ever invinci- 
ble; but we have infected the mind with shadows, delights, wan- 
tonness, negligence, and sloth, and with vain opinions and corrupt 
manners rendered it effeminate and mean." Cicero. 

To the meditative mind, ever saddening is it to 
contemplate the truth that the evolvement by the 
soul of availing personal force, is, in a multitude of 
cases, either unwisely retarded or sillily prevented. 
There are two lines of life in which, more often 
perhaps than in any others, presence is found to be 
weak and unincisive ; and they are (first) that of 
the devotees of fashion, and (secondly) that of the 
devotees of frivolity. 

Who does not know the effect of mere mode, 
when it has once gained the title of customary or 
the epithet of stylish ? And who does not know 
how this personified thing is independent of merit, 
how it is subject to caprice, and how it keeps the 

* Deuteronomy, xxxii. 11. 



336 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FOETUNE. 

world in a perpetual flutter about the cut of clothes, 
the lights and the shades of appearances, and the 
details of manners ? Fashion has been aptly denned 
by one writer, as "the race of the rich to get away 
from the poor, who follow on as fast as they can." 
Why does Miss Tabby Dormouse, of whom you may 
read in Curtis' genteel Potipliar Papers, slip over 
the letter ' r,' and let herself be heard saying, 
" Some 'aw, 'uff man from the country ? " Why do 
those Irishmen, of whom Thackeray speaks in his 
Booh of Snobs, " ape Englishmen, and forget their 
country, and try to forget their accent, or to smoth- 
er the taste of it.? " He tells us of O'Dowd, of 
Odowdstown, who says, " Come, dine with me, my 
boy — you'll find us all English there ; " and from 
whose lips the same words fall with a Celtic brogue, 
which blabs the ridiculous absurdity of his attempt 
to pass himself off as a genuine specimen of English 
" high life." He cites, also, the instance of Mrs. 
Captain M'Manus, who, in essaying to talk like an 
English lady, betrays her nativity and her silliness 
by saying I-ali-land, and fawther's esteet. The expla- 
nation of these and of all similar attempts at show 
and style, is, that there are some who are trying 
to support splendid appearances and forms, which 
shall make them distinct from others, while those 
others are trying, by a continual aping of their fickle 
splendors, to take rank with them. 

Now, this strife after outward and meteor-like dis- 
tinction affects, to a lamentable extent, the develop- 
ment of souls and the value of personal atmospheres. 
It results in the decay of presence-force. When 
men's importance is generally estimated by artificial 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 337 

brilliancies, how little must there be in popular life 
to help sterling quality and vigorous expression ! 
Devotion to fashion hinders genuine manners, and 
brings counterfeit ones in their stead. It leads to 
what Chalmers calls " that wretched competition of 
extravagance which has banished from society all 
the simplicity of kindness." Pope Clement XIV. 
seems to have felt, when he first ascended to the 
papal chair, the stirrings of a soul not infected by the 
unmanning opinions and practices appertaining to 
fashion ; and, therefore, on receiving the bow of the 
ambassadors at his court, he manfully returned it by 
bowing himself. But he was promptly informed by 
the master of ceremonies, that he had done what it 
was not customary for popes to do. " Oh," he re- 
plied, " I beg your pardon ; I have not been pope 
long enough to forget good manners." Alas ! how 
do persons come to be mere imitating weaklings, by 
reason of devoting themselves to conformity to style ! 
How do people, for the sake of following the fash- 
ions, check and keep down the only principle that 
can give a charm to their presence ! Coleridge, as 
he lingered once by the sea-shore, had a thought or 
two of such people, which he penned thus : 

"Fashion's pining sons and daughters, 
That seek the crowd they seem to fly, 
Trembling they approach thy waters, 
And what cares Nature, if they die? " 

I turn to speak of frivolity. It is intimately asso- 
ciated with fashion ; and its emasculating effect on 
the soul and on presence is usually coextensive 
with that produced by its yoke-fellow. A friend, 
who is accustomed to have ideas and sentiments of 
22 



338 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

his own, once sent to the writer of these pages a 
letter containing the following suggestive para- 
graph : 

"lam at times moved to actual contempt, when I look around 
me and see how everything is conducted in society, especially in 
that of young people. It makes no difference how good one's 
character or how excellent one's undertakings may be ; if he does 
not conform to the standard which suits a simpering frivolousness, 
he is not counted in." 

Under the foregoing words some positive thoughts 
are here to be expressed. There was quite enough 
to make the sigh of that correspondent sadder than 
any common breathing of sorrow over the shallow- 
ness of so much that is called modern society. In- 
deed, there was that which might well have made it 
a sigh from the deeper and darker region of feeling, 
— a sigh even from the interior realm of nameless 
pities. The truth is, the real u children of this 
world " — so many of them as are to-da,j running 
the race of pleasure-seekers — are almost as defi- 
cient in solidity of character and in personal force, 
as the finest bubbles are in actual amount and in 
real strength of substance. Test them with one 
veritable trial or with one masterly thought, and 
they will burst like the showy orb which some child 
has just blown from soap-water. Their mental na- 
ture feeds on glee and tinsel. They prize gilded 
garments above the humble nobleness whose voice 
is still and small, and whose heart is brave and 
grand. They converse never ; but they gossip eter- 
nally. They account the delicate hand, which no 
labor has ever hardened, a higher honor than the 
worn palms that tell of deeds well done, the victo- 
ries of cheerful toil. They never laugh ; but they 



THE MYSTIC PERSONALTY. 3S9 

simper all the day. They are sincere only when 
they are in quest of new dressing, or when they are 
sick, or when they are mad. 

Averments these are which can be easily main- 
tained. I shall not need to reflect that I have ani- 
madverted hastily. The career which more than 
a million Americans are running at high speed, is 
the career of the frivolous ; and often enough the 
thoughtful observer of them is ready to sit down 
and weep, that so many, of whom he did long to 
think better things, have become identified with the 
vast multitude of the flippant and simpering ones 
who are pursuing after vain delights. The picked 
company of this clay's most fashionable parlors, the 
dazzling representatives of elegant movement that 
create the gay hum of this day's most animated ball- 
rooms, the frippery-loving young women who have 
the stylish daintiness or archness that wins for them 
the title of refined, the fast young men who are 
admired for their exterior polish, their nimbleness, 
and their volubility, — all that form the changeful, 
kaleidoscopic scene of mere pleasure-seeking Ameri- 
can society, are flitting, gossiping, fancy-sick adorers 
of transient pleasures and of pretty trifles. And as ' 
one stands aloof from them and witnesses their 
worthless extravagances, how can he not be tempt- 
ed to pronounce them the most brilliant shams that 
ever careered to nothingness, in the thronged course 
of vanity, levity, and illusion? Caring never for 
the things which are strong and substantial, partak- 
ing never of the food on which thought flourishes 
and mind grows, communing never with Nature 
and Silence and eternal Wisdom, they employ their 



340 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

whole being in a continual chase for pleasure, and 
die at last, having lived as uselessly almost as mere 
glittering insects. Ah ! what a relief it is to betake 
one's self from the places where these squanderers 
of time and neglecters of blood-bought opportunities 
make their charmless din, to the wide, fresh, and 
free scenes where the great Worker is unpretend- 
ingly and majestically employed ! " Exalted Na- 
ture ! " says Richter, " when we see and love thee, 
we love our fellow-men more warmly ; and when we 
must pity or forget them, thou still remainest with 
us, reposing before the moist eye like a verdant 
chain of mountains in the evening red." 

But what can be done to save the million from 
their soul-weakening devotion to trivial objects? 
What can be done to deliver people from a mode of 
life which evinces a folly similar to that of one who 
should [as Sterling expresses it] " cover the fingers 
with rings, and, at the same time, cut the sinews at 
the wrist ? " This is the answer : Let every influen- 
tial mind devote itself anew to thought, to truth, to 
naturalness, to honesty ! Let all teachers and lead- 
ers, all who are competent to aid in correcting false 
popular opinions, and all who are fitted to guide the 
unwise toward higher conditions of experience and 
self-re vealment, nourish a noble scorn of " simpering 
frivolousness," and cherish an ardent and courageous 
ambition to be ever in harmony with the normal, the 
reasonable, and the divine. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL 



THAT WHICH MUST BE FULFILLED IN ORDER THAT THE 
ENTIRE CAPITAL OF MAN AS MAN, OR, IN OTHER 
WORDS, "THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE," 
SHOULD BE TRULY TURNED TO AC- 
COUNT, AND CONTINUALLY 
AND INCREASINGLY 
ENRICHED. 



Totum in eo est, ut tibi imperes. 

(" The whole secret is this, to command thyself.") 

Cicero. 



341 



Chapter VI. 
KNOWING HOW TO BE ONE'S OWN. 



AS RELATED TO INNER LUMINOSITY AND NOBLE- 
MANSHIP. 

" The greatest thing in the world is for a man to know how to 
be his own." Montaigne, Essay on Solitude. 

" When a man once knows that he has done justice to himself, 
let him dismiss all terrors of aristocracy as superstitious, so far as 
he is concerned." Emerson, English Traits, p. 189. 

In the resorts of commonplace mortals, there is 
seen, now and then, some person who is noticea- 
ble — perhaps remarkable — for more or less about 
him and in his style of life, that is interestingly 
unique. His visage has a look of pensive buoyanc} T ; 
his glance is quick and piercing ; his gesture is mag- 
netic ; the clothing which he gives his ideas is in 
happy contrast with all threadbare phraseological 
garments ; and his ideas themselves are such that 
one might sa}^ of them, as Coleridge says of the 
thoughts and the sentiments of Wordsworth, " They 
are fresh and have the dew upon them." While 
nothing that appertains to that person seems to be 
showy or overstrained, all that appertains to him 

343 



344 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

seems to be in some sense invitingly new, or in 
some degree attractively rare. He has the charm of 
a peculiar spontaneity and expressiveness. He is 
finely natural. Impossible is it for others to observe 
his significant simplicity and his suggestive singu- 
larity without receiving a clear impression there- 
from ; accordingly, as often as he chooses to reveal 
himself and to send out rays of his splendor, he does 
somehow make his mark. They who converse with 
l#m eye to eye, feel something coming like electrici- 
ty from his soul into theirs. All who behold his 
manifestations are intent on studying him ; and of 
those who study him, some pa}' him the tribute of 
a stare of wonderment, as if ready to confess they 
cannot explain him, and some go their way, com- 
menting on his characteristic traits, and perhaps re- 
marking, " That man has a mind of his own." 

Now, wherever there is an instance substantially 
answering to the picture just drawn, that instance is 
one of a class that has been known in all ages since 
the human race began its succession of generations. 
At certain epochs this class has doubtless been more 
numerous than at others. Difficult certainly it is to 
think that, in the period of the Grecian virtue and 
in the era of the Roman kingliness, the number of 
those representing it was not far larger than it was, 
either in the Babylonian age or in the age when an 
English lord could be " ignorant, cowardly, ugly, 
silly, and old, without any harm to him therefrom." 

In no century, however, has the same interesting 
class been numerous enough. The nations of the 
earth might well wish that it to-day included ten 
thousand more instances than it does. For the truth 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 345 

is, that all the instances of it are genuine stars of 
mankind ; they emit light which they themselves 
possess, while other persons merely reflect light 
which they have borrowed. Moreover, while all 
the instances of it are distinguished after a manner 
which is more or less unusual, surprising, and admi- 
rable, no one of them is distinguished exactly after 
the manner of any fellow-instance. David belonged 
to it, and so did Solomon ; but the Daviclian lumi- 
nosity was very different from the Solomonian. Or- 
pheus belonged to it, and so did Homer ; but the 
Orphic lustrousness was very different from the 
Homeric. Confucius belonged to it, and so did Zoro- 
aster ; but the Confucian soul-light was very differ- 
ent from the Zoroastrian. Of these, each was in 
some splendid sense a man by himself; each had a 
personal magnificence such as no other mortal in the 
world was fitted to have ; each exhibited a distinct 
style of star-like brightness, which was demonstra- 
tive of real noblemanship. 

Indeed, there never yet lived a man of the brave 
class of the welcomely untrite and the engagingly 
peculiar, who had not made himself a real nobleman. 
What a self-made nobleman was Chaucer, that 
" perpetual fountain of good sense ! " — was Shakes- 
peare, the bard, " not for an age but for all time," 
who sung without being aware how grand was his 
singing! — was Milton, who, in a period when " such 
pitiful and stupid poetasters as Shad well and Settle 
bore away the shining rewards of letters," rose sadly 
but sublimely to greatness! — was Samuel John- 
son, who " in all things and everywhere spoke out 
in plain English from a soul wherein Jesuitism could 



846 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

find no harbor ! " — was the superb Goethe, "a poet 
in such a sense as the late generations have wit- 
nessed no other!" — was Schiller, that "high min- 
istering servant at Truth's altar ! " — was Roger 
Williams, the invincible colonist-apostle, whose clar- 
ion voice rang out, two hundred and forty }^ears ago, 
against bigotry and intolerance, and in defense of 
" the great doctrine of intellectual liberty ! " — was 
Benjamin Franklin, who was both a model republi- 
can and " the most natural of all philosophers ! " 

And the reason why can be easily told. I shall 
signify it when I say that if you name any person, 
whether of an ancient or a modern century, who, 
after first learning how to be his own, had, during an 
adequate time of wholesome mental training, exer- 
cised an undiminishing self-mastery, then you will 
name one who was a true human star, a real noble- 
man. That person stifled not his own nature, but 
grafted upon it, and helped it. He grew " rich of 
himself, and not by borrowing." Knowing how to 
be one's own, is the principal part of the explanation 
of a rich, unique, lucid, impressive manhood. It is 
that without which insipid commonness can never 
be outgrown — that without which the mind can 
never be made magnificent — that without which 
genuine self-enrichment and self-ennoblement are 
impossible. It is, forsooth, the prime condition of 
true avail, in the case of the Great Fortune inher- 
ited by humanity. 

He who would please God and deserve the good 
will of men needs to be very unlike the weakling 
who belongs to everybody ; he must be an honest, 
earnest, self -improving individual, who has learned 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 347 

how to be his own. Knowing how to be one's own, 
contributes more than anything else to enable one 
to derive actual and high advantage both from what 
has been bequeathed to him by nature and from 
what he has acquired. It prevents beauty of coun- 
tenance from turning out to be tame and flat, and it 
saves honor from amounting to a misfortune. It is 
a remedy for that diffidence which tends to the 
decay of talent, and for that machine-like mental 
action which is the result of an excessive dependence 
on advice and authority. The proprietor of lands 
and houses must know how to be his own, else he 
will become an unhappy mortal, not so much pos- 
sessing as being possessed by his property ; and the 
knowledge-seeker must know how to be his own, 
else his intellect will become a kind of warehouse, 
and his learning a great collection of unassorted and 
unappropriated intellectual goods. 

Let a young man apply his energies in an honora- 
ble path of action, and be qualified to exercise self- 
mastery therein, and steadily and strikingly will he 
advance toward superior attainments. No difficul- 
ties will be able to dishearten him, no obstacles will 
have power to fill him with dismay. He will not 
allow his dread of ridicule or of contempt to hold 
him in a "restless obscurit}^." If antagonists must 
be encountered, he will meet them with an uncowed 
front. Though at the risk of being denounced and 
shunned, he will prove loyal to whom loyalty is due ; 
and though at the hazard of being scoffed at and 
persecuted, he will firmly stand, when the occasion 
shall be such as to require it, 

" In the right with two or three." 



348 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Knowing how to be one's own, is opposed to one's 
becoming either a begging underling or a servile 
imitator, either a fawning dependant or a showy 
superficialist. It immensely contributes to withhold 
one from lapsing into animalism. Little likely is 
he who has ascertained how to be master of himself, 
to suffer any one of his appetites to gain a beastly 
strength, or any one of his passions to assume a 
brutal ferocity. Had Herod been versed in self- 
mastery, he would not have been a monster of cru- 
elty ; and had Nero been versed in it, he would not 
have out-Heroded Herod. The dissipation of George 
Selwyn — that specimen of the English gentry of 
another age, who is represented by Thackeray as 
having been " carried to bed by two wretches at 
midnight with three pints of claret in him " — was 
principally owing to the fact that he did not know 
how to be his own. 

Knowing how to be one's own, is well adapted to 
deter one from coming to have a disposition like that 
of King Pyrrhus, who was wont (according to Mon- 
taigne) " to truckle to the great, and to domineer 
over the small." It preeminently conduces to deliver 
one from fancifulness and fickleness, from dilettan- 
teism and flunkyism, from the hollowness of the 
trifler, and the wordiness of the gossip. Those lines 
of an old song, 

"Their minds are made of say, 
Their love is like silk changeable," 

are applicable to many mortals, but they are appli- 
cable to such mortals only as have never found out 
how to be their own. 

He who has observed, from stage to stage in their 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 349 

life-courses, two individuals, one of whom was ex- 
perimentally acquainted with the science and the 
art of being a self-mastered inhabitant of the world, 
and the other utterly unschooled by experience as 
to that science and that art, must have been deeply 
impressed and much instructed. What differences 
at different times arrested his attention ! He saw, 
on the one hand, a person to whom solitude was 
sweet, and, on the other, a person who was nearly 
always lonely when alone. He noticed that the for- 
mer had ever the dignity and the influence of a 
leader ; but that the latter generally, with an easy, 
vapid compliance, offered himself as ready to be led. 
He perceived that the former habitually directed 
and governed his feelings and tendencies, never 
allowing them to exceed due bounds ; but that the 
latter was wont to let his impulses and inclinations, 
his partialities and fondnesses, run away with his 
soul and body whenever they would. He beheld 
that the former adhered with a rational tenacity to 
the beliefs he had espoused and to the pursuits he 
had undertaken ; but that the latter was ever liable 
to be (as an apostle says) " carried about with every 
wind of doctrine," and ever apt to be (as Dryden 
has it) " everything by starts and nothing long." 
He discovered that the former w T alked beneath the 
heavens free from all superstitious apprehensions ; 
but that the latter often had " an intense feeling 
about himself which made the evening star shine at 
him with a threat, and the blessing of a beggar [if 
he chanced to meet one] encourage him." He ob- 
served that the former always remained true to the 
side which he had chosen, though he had to hold to it 



350 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

with the few; but that the latter, as often as he found 
himself in the minority, "slank obliquely" out of the 
same, and joined the larger party. And withal, he 
saw that the former, whenever he stood before men 
of special outward rank or men of- imposing material 
wealth, stood erect and unconfused ; but that the 
latter, on every occasion of entering into the pres- 
ence of aristocrats or of millionaires, exchanged his 
customary style of self-assurance for a style of cow- 
ering humility. 

And thus is it ever. While the figure which is 
made in life by him who is well qualified as to self- 
mastery, is, in some high sense, creditable, that which 
is made by him who is unqualified in respect to the 
same, is, in some saddening sense, discreditable. 

All over the world, they who come short of know- 
ing how to be their own, do also come short of 
acquitting themselves manfully in any of the rela- 
tionships, any of the positions, any of the exigencies 
wherein their merit or their virtue is put to test. 
Parents who know not how to be their own are 
adult children. Teachers who know not how to be 
their own misgovern rather than govern their pupils. 
Friends who know not how to be their own fall 
away, when their fidelity is tried, into neutrality or 
undisguised falseness. Military commanders who 
know not how to be their own abound, perhaps, 
with rash daring, — perhaps with flourish and bra- 
vado, — but never with cool and majestic courage. 
Political officials who know not how to be their 
own are mere trimmers, answering peradventure to 
the description, 

" Scarce men without, and less than girls within." 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 351 

No one who has not yet come to know how to be 
his own, is fitted to hold his way, unbewildered by 
perplexities and nndistracted by tumults, unweak- 
ened by adversity and unsolved by misuse. Learn 
how to be master of thyself, and thou wilt prove 
to be greater than thy body, greater than thy pains 
or thy pleasures, thy hnmors or thy biases, thine 
enthusiasms or thine ambitions, and greater than 
thy circumstances. Whatsoever may be the con- 
scious state whereinto thou art made to enter, thou 
wilt show thyself to be mightier than it; and what- 
soever may be the station or the situation which 
thou art called to occupy, thou wilt show thyself to 
be superior to it. 

About nineteen hundred and twenty-five years 
ago, there was a mariner who had charge of a 
twelve-oared vessel in which voj^ages were made 
over the Ionian Sea. One night, Julius Caesar, hab- 
ited as a slave, embarked in that vessel, to be borne 
from Apollonia to Brundusium. His purpose in seek- 
ing to be transported to that place, was to hasten 
forward troops whereon he depended for the discom- 
fiture of Pompey, whose fleets were hovering along 
the Ionian coast. As the vessel dropped down the 
river Anias toward the sea, a violent gale suddenly 
sprang up, and the waves dashed furiously against 
one another, producing not only a great noise, but 
also perilous eddies. The mariner was smitten with 
terror, and he ordered the oarsmen to turn back. 
At that moment, Csesar arose and revealed himself. 
Said he : 

"Go forward, my friend, and fear nothing; thou earnest Caesar 
and his fortune." 



352 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

What a contrast was then and there to be seen ! 
That seaman, because he understood not how to be 
master of himself, had let his fear completely pre- 
vail over him and bind him fast with its chains ; but 
that Roman general, by reason of knowing how to 
be his own, was able to stand unalarmed and com- 
posed while the tempest raged round him. 

The direct treatment of the topic which has thus 
far occupied attention, has here an end ; but not 
here is the topic itself suffered to drop from under 
consideration. It shall be indirectly kept before the 
mind, and more and more elucidated, as its weighti- 
ness gives it right to be, all the way to the final close. 
I now go on to specify and discuss the chief distin- 
guishing peculiarities which depend on the great 
condition or qualification expressed in the chapter- 
head. Afterward, there will be presented some in- 
stances specially and vividly illustrative of them. 



II. 

INDIVIDUALITY. 

"If men would be content to graft upon Nature and assist her 
operations, what mighty effects might we expect ! " 

The Spectator, No. 404. 

"As to the crowd of those who are faithfully stamped, like bank 
notes, with the same marks, with the difference only of being worth 
more guineas or fewer, they are mere particles of a glass, mere 
pieces and bits of the great vulgar or the small." j OHN Foster 

There is a certain trait which, being itself strongly 
characteristic, imparts characteristicalness to every 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 353 

trait that coexists with it. Not all, but compara- 
tively only a small proportion of mankind, possess 
it in any noteworthy degree. Its most widely-known 
name is individuality. This trait explains how it is 
that men, like Stephen Blackpool (who is portrayed 
in Dickens' Hard Times), have, even in accepting a 
present and in expressing thanks for the same, such 
grace as " Lord Chesterfield could not have taught 
his son in a century." It may be represented as 
a settled, constant, habitual self-distinctiveness, or 
rather as a fixed disposition to be ever and every- 
where the one that one is by nature fitted to be. 
It is found at its best in none but those who have 
learned the science and the art of self-mastery. 

In the discussion now opened, there is need to 
give some account of those kinds of individuality 
that are not admirable. I will speak particularly of 
them. And the one first to be treated, is the merely 
idiosyncratic individuality. It is exemplified by the 
person who is wont to conform unresistingly to his 
natural weaknesses and caprices. He who has it 
evinces a self-distinctiveness when he is " tickled 
with good success " or is pained by a mishap, when 
he is generous or is crabbed ; but it is a self-distinc- 
tiveness of an inferior order. Most people do too 
often, so far as their foibles and faults are concerned, 
reveal themselves characteristically. The hypocrite 
has no assumed style when he is sullen, the prude 
none when she is piqued. What unpretentious 
changelings men are as to their infirmities, their 
frailties, their irritable unevennesses ! Imitating 
nobody, they put off one small temper and take on 
another. Stopping not to see how others do, they 
23 



854 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

pass, each in a way of his own, from amiability to 
ill-naturedness, and then from ill-naturedness back 
to amiability. Should they keep an account on the 
pages of their diaries of the irregular ebbs and flows 
which occur within them in consequence of their 
conformity to their idiosyncratic failings, what a 
series of singular jottings would they soon have for 
perusal ! Now, there is nothing commendable in 
thus granting to human nature the privilege of be- 
ing in its own style childishly changeable — nothing 
praiseworthy in thus complying with every little 
constitutional turn or proclivit}^. The individuality 
which mortals need is of that high species which is 
associated ever with the habit of being one's own; 
To acquire it, they may well patiently strive. But 
let them endeavor to be as free as possible from the 
cheap individuality which is so often exhibited in 
times of annoyance or of illness, times of evil acci- 
dent or of passionate excitement. For who that has 
ever possessed this, was the better for having it ? 

Another unadmirable kind of individuality is that 
which is illustrated in the case of the extremely 
queer person. It may properly be treated under 
the epithet unwisely-singular. Foolish is he who 
allows himself to gain notoriety by being uniquely 
undignified, inconsistent, uncouth, or ludicrous. 
Demophoon, the steward of Alexander the Great, 
should not have been so odd as to sweat in the shade 
and to shiver in the sunshine ; nor should Germani- 
cus have been so strange as to have and to indulge 
an immense antipathy to the sight and the crowing 
of a cock. Henry the Third of France, it is related, 
was accustomed to spend a hundred thousand crowns 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 355 

a year on spaniels. Antisthenes, the founder of the 
Cynic sect of philosophers, was fond of appearing 
in public, clad in a threadbare and ragged cloak, 
the tattered parts of which he took more pains to 
display than he did to conceal. The one revealed 
himself characteristically respecting dogs, the other 
respecting his dress ; but neither the one nor the 
other revealed a right characteristicalness. Once, 
Antisthenes, while going about in his ridiculous old 
cloak, met Socrates, and was tersely criticised by 
him, thus : 

"Why so ostentatious? Through your rags I see your vanity." 

There was a certain man who had somehow ar- 
rived at the conclusion that every thing merely orna- 
mental is contrary to sacred Scripture, and therefore 
should be discountenanced and repudiated. Well 
known was he throughout a considerable region of 
one of the States. He conceived it to be a sin to 
adorn the body, and a sin to put gilding or trim- 
mings on anything. He held that houses should 
be built and finished without regard to fineness of 
appearance ; that fences should be constructed for 
the sake of their utility only; that one's garden 
should be free from all plants that serve solely for 
beautification ; and that one's stove, one's dishes, 
one's chairs, one's clock, one's book-case, one's car- 
riage, should be absolutely destitute of every species 
and every manner of mere ornament. People, he 
maintained, should, in the matter of clothing, be 
governed entirely by considerations of healthfulness, 
comfortableness, and durability. No one should 
wear broadcloth or satin, silk or velvet, so long as 



356 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

he can procure some other equally wholesome kind 
of dress, or dress-material, for less money. Such 
were the curious views of that curious man. And 
he supplemented his extreme queerness as to views, 
with the extreme queerness inseparable from a re- 
ducing of them to practice. It is not often that 
men try very hard to carry into effect their avowed 
notions ; but the person referred to was an excep- 
tional instance. He eschewed all adornment, and 
became notorious for a style of life wherein was 
manifested a determined antagonism against making 
the useful, for appearance's sake, beautiful. He 
wore garments wrought of tow-thread, and had no 
buttons on the hinder part of his coat. It was his 
aim to allow nothing that was simply decorative in 
its nature, to appertain either to his person or to his 
premises. The anomalous plainness of his garb ren- 
dered him wherever he went a droll spectacle. At 
one time, when he was entering the city, a band of 
lads in the street thought him crazy ; and, with star- 
ing faces, they followed him about till his usually 
mild temper failed him, and he wrathfully turned 
and put them to rout. On the part of that earnest 
and persevering laughing-stock, there was much 
self-distinctiveness ; but it was of an unwisely-sin- 
gular sort, and consequently not entitled to any 
profound admiration. 

I speak next of the unadmirable kind of individu- 
ality which is evinced by the ill-balanced contem- 
platist, who is either an extravagant believer or an 
extravagant skeptic. There may be applied to it the 
epithet erratically-intellectual. All one-idea men are 
instances of this. Longfellow, in his Hyperion, rep- 



THE PKIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 357 

resents the Baron of Hohenfels as speaking to Paul 
Flemming thus : 

" In solitude, some fixed idea will often take root in the mind, 
and grow till it overshadow all one's thoughts. To this must all 
opinions come ; no thought can enter there, which shall not be 
wedded to the fixed idea. There it remains and grows. It is like 
the watchman's wife, in the Tower of Waiblingen, who grew to 
such a size, that she could not get down the narrow stair-case ; 
and when her husband died, his successor was forced to marry the 
fat widow in the Tower." 

The comet of thinkers, the enthusiast of theoriz- 
ers, the fanatic of investigators, and the quidcller of 
metaphysicians — each is a one-idea man. The soul 
of such a one seems to become by degrees dry and 
light, and to be ever floating higher and higher in a 
kind of ether, wherein it can abound with nothing 
but abstract meditations and visionary reveries. 
When Constantine, the Roman emperor, saw how 
Acesius, the bishop of the Novatian sect, was affected 
by his favorite tenet (the belief that there is no 
temporal efficacy in repentance), he said to him, 
"Acesius, take a ladder and get up to heaven by 
yourself/' Suggestive reproof! Gibbon, alluding 
to it, remarks, " Most of the Christian sects have, 
by turns, borrowed the ladder of Acesius." 

What strangeness of many a philosopher, what 
weirdness of many a saint, does one-ideaism ex- 
plain ! There was Philetas, that ancient puzzle- 
headed scholar. It is written that he died of con- 
sumption incurred in consequence of his study of 
the sophism: 

" If when you speak the truth, you say you lie, you lie : but you 
say you lie when you speak the truth ; therefore, in speaking the 
truth, you lie." 



358 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

There was Pyrrho, that ancient skeptic. His pet 
idea was the non-reality of what men claimed to be 
certainly known. This idea, by reason that he inces- 
santly entertained and fostered it, grew in his mind 
to prodigious dimensions. All his other ideas at- 
tached themselves to it. Under its influence, he 
denied the actual existence of the material world. 
His friends, when they heard from his lips this ex- 
treme negation, began to fear lest his one-ideaism as 
a skeptic should result in the loss of his life ; and 
they thenceforth accompanied him continually, in 
his goings and comings, in order that he might not 
receive fatal injury from any of the things along his 
way. Very natural was it for them to think that, 
with such a conclusion in his head as the nihilistic 
one he had deduced, he was liable, unless protec- 
tively attended, to walk off dry land into deep 
water, to be run over by some vehicle, or to break 
his neck by stepping from the brink of some preci- 
pice. 

There was Saint Anthony, that Egyptian ascetic 
who, in the fourth centur}% founded, on a hill near 
the Red Sea, the system of monachism. He had 
wedded all his thoughts to the one idea that Chris- 
tian purity is dependent on a retired mode of life. 
This, as it grew day by da}^ within him, destroyed 
his mental balance, and fitted him for amazing vaga- 
ries. He sold his property and distributed the pro- 
ceeds thereof among his relatives, abandoned all 
familiar scenes, and betook himself to the ruins of 
fallen tombs, and thence to the desert. He prac- 
ticed not only severe abnegation but also self-flagel- 
lation, dwelt much of the time with wild beasts, and 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 359 

subsisted on fruits and herbs which were produced 
by uncultivated nature. 

There was Saint Thomas Aquinas, that scholastic 
meditator and " loquacious metaphysician," who lived 
in Italy in the thirteenth century. He had let him- 
self become occupied and possessed by the single 
idea of a reconciliation between the Aristotelian 
philosophy and logic and the Bible. Being unre- 
mittingly cherished by him, that idea could not but 
increase to enormous proportions. It spread out, 
like a gigantic tropical plant, which covers and 
chokes with its rank branches and leaves everything 
that tries to live near it. Something of it pervaded 
all his perceptions, all his fancies, all his feelings. 
Not a look did he wear on his countenance that was 
not in some degree expressive of it : not a word did 
he utter that did not in some manner signify it ; not 
an act did he perform that could not be said to con- 
vey some hint about it. His life has been aptly 
described by Michelet, as " entirely one of abstrac- 
tion." Such was his absorption in his daily employ- 
ment as a hair-splitting philosophizer over the Scrip- 
tures, that " when sleep closed the eyes of his body, 
those of his soul remained open," and he uncon- 
sciously, during the night-hours, broke the stillness 
of his room with mumbled interpretations and com- 
ments. The extent to which his one-ideaism en- 
grossed his faculties was, in at least two particular 
instances, astonishingly shown. On a certain day 
when he was at sea, a fearful tempest passed over 
without even diverting his attention from his task; 
and at another time, while engaged in his usual 
work, he held fast, without being aware of the con- 



360 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

tact of fire with his nerves, to a lighted candle 
which was burning his fingers with its flame. 

And there was (to cite one more instance) Igna- 
tius Loyola, who, in the first half of the sixteenth 
century, founded the order of Jesuits. He was born 
and bred in Spain. For a period, he served as a 
page to the Spanish king ; but, having acquired a 
distaste for a courtier's life, he became a soldier. 
When he had reached the age of thirty years, a book 
entitled The Flower of the Saints, was one day placed 
in his hands. He was at the time recovering from 
a fever. In that book, he read vivid accounts of 
Christian men who had chosen to lead lives of pain- 
ful retirement, privation, and hardship. Some of 
them were persons of rank. They had wandered 
over the earth in coarse vestments ; they had worn 
heavy iron chains ; they had dwelt in dreary deserts 
or in horrible caves. As he contemplated the ascetic 
rigorism practiced by those devout persons, there 
became fixed in his mind the idea that, by imitating 
their example, he could gain a sacred fame. This 
idea rapidly grew within him ; for so powerfully had 
he been impressed by the narratives which he had 
perused, that he was in a mood to cherish it con- 
tinually. It soon attained an overshadowing magni- 
tude. Under its ever-increasing influence, he re- 
solved to begin the career of a hermit-saint, and to 
strive to outdo the most eminent of those who had 
passed their years in a like career. He even deter- 
mined that, in addition to other mortifying severities, 
he would undertake to walk barefooted all the way 
to the Holy Land. His brother, Don Martin, in 
vain sought to dissuade him from taking the course 



THE PBIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 361 

of pious extravagances toward which his soul was 
set. He went forth from his home and his friends, 
and, after vowing at Montserrat a vow of perpetual 
chastit}', actually commenced the life of religious 
austerity for which his one-ideaism had prepared 
him. He covered his body with a sack. He found 
a cave, and made it his dwelling-place. There he 
slept on the cold earth, and confined himself to a 
diet of bread and water. His hair and his finger- 
nails were permitted by him to grow to a shocking 
]ength. He spent seven hours daily in vocal pra}-er, 
fasted regularly, often went from door to door beg- 
ging, and, withal, was accustomed to administer, 
several times every day, a severe flogging to his 
own person. So much did he disfigure his frame by 
the last-named practice, that people pointed him out 
and hooted at him when he appeared in the streets. 
After a while melancholy seized him ; and then 
sickness, and then delirium. He thought that he 
was damned and in hell. Some monks came and 
rescued him from his frightful haunt. He recovered 
the customary use of his powers, and subsequently 
became ambitious to be the founder of an oath- 
bound order of itinerant Roman Catholic propa- 
gandists. It may be said that he modified his first 
one-ideaism by adding to it a fresh one-ideaism ; 
and that the Jesuitic organization, which he estab- 
lished in the year fifteen hundred and forty at 
Venice, had its rise in the mixture of the two. 

Still another unadmirable kind of individuality 
awaits consideration. I shall treat it under the title 
disdainfully -arbitrary. It is that which marks the 
despotic type of character. The person of a cold 



362 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

loftiness and an excessive reserve, the arrogant aris- 
tocrat, the self-exalted, imperious aspirer after glory, 
and the cruelly-decisive wielder of power — each is 
a representative of it. In Paradise Lost, Satan is 
described as surveying his situation with a frigid 
but majestic composure, and as saying : 

" Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven." 

There have been men who have been, in a similar 
manner, uniquely proud. Many is the conqueror, 
many is the king, that chills while he dazes those on 
whom he looks. Who has not seen some robed 
priest, some towering statesman, or some magisterial 
teacher, whose visage was fitted to make one say : 

"He gilds it always, he warms it not ? " 

It is related of Keate, a noted Eton head-master 
whose pupil Tennyson is said to have once been, 
that, on a certain morning when he was reading 
to the school the Beatitudes, he commented on 
the sixth one thus : " Mind that ! It is your duty 
to be pure in heart. If you are not pure in heart, 
I'll flog you." * About a century earlier, there was 
a head-master of the same school who had a stern 
lordliness which rendered him even more fearful to 
his pupils than Keate was to his. His name was 
Charles Roderick. In the one hundred and sixty- 
eighth number of The Spectator occur these words 
respecting him : 

" So very dreadful had he made himself to me, that although it 
is above twenty years since I felt his heavy hand, yet once a 
month at least I dream of him, so strong an impression did he 
make on my mind." 

* See article on Eton College, in Harper's Magazine for Sep- 
tember, 1876. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 363 

And the writer adds the remark, that the fact of 
his being thus continually haunted in his sleep was 
an evidence that that master had formerly fully ter- 
rified him when he was awake. 

Of the species of self-distinctiveness here re- 
ceiving attention there have been numerous historic 
instances. It was illustrated by Nebuchadnezzar, 
who, walking with a haughty step on the top of his 
palace, said, " Is not this great Babylon that I have 
built ... by the might of my power, and for the 
honor of my majesty ? " It was illustrated by 
Frederick the Great of Prussia, who " lavished with 
unfeeling prodigality the blood of his soldiers." It 
was illustrated by Napoleon the First, who, though 
he shone dazzlingly, shone with a heatless efful- 
gence, and who, though he had greatness, was great 
only as a "demonic man." "I knew one," says 
Erasmus, " so arrogant that he thought himself in- 
ferior to no man living." So Hampden, after he had 

" The little tyrant of his fields withstood," 

could have said ; and so Johnson, after the com- 
pletion of his dictionary, could have said — Johnson, 
to whom the Earl of Chesterfield had been as " one 
who looks with unconcern on a man struggling in 
the water, and, when he has reached the ground, 
encumbers him with help." 

There have been, in the ages, inhuman specimens 
of mankind, ferocious men. Their chief principle 
of action was, that right is for one what one makes 
right ; and their chief ideal was the ideal of superi- 
ority in mere strength, that whereby (as Novalis 
teaches) man becomes a beast-spirit, displaying a 



364 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

brutal wit which has for weaklings " a brutal power 
of attraction." Some of them were " terrible be- 
ings who exalted themselves above men. above mis- 
fortune, above the earth, and above conscience, and 
to whom it was all the same whatever human blood 
they shed, whether another's or their own." And 
all those men — those Hamans, Maximins, Tamer- 
lanes, Neros, Borgias, Herods, Lauds, Robespierres, 
whose leading traits may be declared to have been 
wrought out of invisible iron — were instances of 
the disdainfully-arbitrary kind of individuality. To 
two of them I will more than cursorily allude. 
They were Caligula and Sir George Jeffreys, — the 
former a representative tyrant, the latter a repre- 
sentative bully. 

Of Caligula, see what is written in history ! He 
was the fourth of the Roman emperors. As such, 
he procured the death of several of his kindred. 
He ordered criminals to be executed by inches, so 
that they " might feel themselves to be dying." He 
caused persons to be subjected to torture, that he 
might, while taking his meals, be amused by their 
expressions of agony. Once, at a circus, he com- 
manded a considerable number of the spectators to 
be seized and thrown before the wild beasts in the 
arena. He obliged unoffending fathers to witness 
the infliction of capital punishment on their sons. 
He often intimated, while kissing the neck of a wife 
or a mistress, how quickly, notwithstanding its pret- 
tiness, he could have it severed if he chose. He 
used to say of the people, whose detestation he knew 
he had incurred, " Let them hate me, provided they 
fear me ; " and on one occasion he signified the 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 365 

wish that they had but one head, so that he might 
kill the whole of them at a single blow. He caused 
Apelles, a noted tragedian, to be cruelly whipped, 
in order that he might, as he professed, hear the nat- 
ural tones and accents of which that actor's voice was 
capable. He married his own sister Drusilla. He pro- 
claimed himself a god, and, erecting a temple to him- 
self, appointed priests to pay worship to him therein. 
He honored his favorite horse, Incitatus, with a 
stable of marble and a rack of ivory. He ordered a 
huge platform, more than three miles long, to be 
constructed on the sea, and to be covered with 
earth, mason-work, and buildings ; and, when the 
strange project was accomplished, he celebrated the 
achievement with a banquet, which he gave in the 
middle of the vast floating bridge, and the close of 
which he signalized by causing many of the guests 
to be pushed off into the water, and kept under by 
means of oars and poles. He led the Roman army 
into Gaul, pretending that he was going on an ex- 
pedition against Britain ; and, after impoverishing 
that country by extortion and plunder, he set out 
with the troops homeward, and, in the course of the 
march, pompously drew them up in battle-array on 
the sea-shore, commanded them to fill their helmets 
with shells, and then called those shells the spoils he 
had taken as conqueror of the ocean ! 

The foregoing delineation is to be followed by 
one which, though ifc will contain fewer details, will 
not be less striking. I am to try to depict the atro- 
cious Sir George Jeffreys, who was the chief justice 
of the King's Bench during the deplorable reign of 
James the Second, of England. To portray him 



366 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

clearly, one needs to borrow from the vivid picture 
given by Macaulay. His style as a lawyer he had 
acquired at the Old Baile}^ bar, where it was the 
custom to tolerate almost any degree of looseness or 
waywardness in speech. There he had for years 
exercised his powers in doing business, principally 
for wretches and villains. In serving such clients — 
persons that were numbered among the worst knaves 
of London — he had grown expert in browbeating 
and badgering, in audacious ridicule and abusive 
bombast. The result was, that he had come to be 
" the most consummate bully ever known in his 
profession." The general expression of his face 
was unprepossessing, and the sound of his voice 
was disagreeable. Impudence and ferocity (so one 
learns from Macaulay) sat on his brow ; the glare 
of his e}^es had a fascination for the unhappy vic- 
tim on whom they were fixed ; more terrible even 
than his brow and eye were the savage lines which 
marked his mouth: and his yell of fury was sug- 
gestive of the thunder of the judgment-day. The 
insatiable zeal and the overbearing bravado of that 
base judge secured the conviction of two compas- 
sionate women, Lady Lisle and Mrs. Gaunt, for 
having afforded refuge in their houses to certain 
fugitives from Monmouth's defeated army ; and 
when he had contrived to bring to pass a verdict 
against them, he made himself instrumental in 
causing them to be literally burned alive. The 
saintly Richard Baxter was one of those who suf- 
fered from his insolent hardihood and his ventings 
of furious scorn. He had been arraigned for some 
condemnatory comments which, in one of his works, 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 367 

he had incidentally made on the persecution of dis- 
senters. Jeffreys, with " forehead of brass and 
tongue of venom," mocked that good man, by 
raising his clasped hands, and singing through his 
nose, " Lord, we are thy people, thy peculiar people, 
thy dear people." It was proposed by him that 
Baxter should be tied to the cart's tail and whipped 
through London. But a less severe punishment 
was inflicted. The pious author was only fined and 
imprisoned. 

Genuine and admirable individuality may be said 
to consist in being true, in true ways, to one's own 
nature. Would you know whether a man has it or 
not ? Then trouble not yourself to inquire whence 
he has come — where he was born, reared, or edu- 
cated — what degree of distinction appertained to 
his near or remote ancestors — what positions he 
has held — what diplomas, titles, or testimonials he 
can exhibit — what noteworthy performances he has 
wrought — how he gets his living — how much ma- 
terial wealth he possesses ; but ask, first of all, 
What is he in himself? Just as an arrow, shot in 
earnest and surely aimed, goes to the blood, so this 
question will go to the pith of the case. 

Mr. Hughes, in his Tom Broivris School-Bays at 
Rugby, represents Squire Brown (Tom's father) as 
loving to propound the belief that " a man is to be 
valued wholly and solely for that which he is in 
himself, for that which stands up in the four fleshly 
walls of him, apart from clothes, rank, fortune, and 
all externals whatsoever." To find out what one is 
in himself, is to find out more than what man is in 



368 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

general ; it is to ascertain what one is as a certain 
one. He who has true individuality has a clear 
importance and worth, additional to the importance 
and the worth which belong to his soul in common 
with other souls. To his character there belong 
admirable points of uniqueness. An unborrowed 
inner wealth is his. While in much he is like all,' 
in much he is like none. He is a human unit in 
possession of inimitable distinguishing marks. At 
home, abroad, among the small, among the great, 
everywhere, he maintains a hale and manly state of 
singleness. He " always marches along as a stream 
with its own waves through the sea of the world." 
In no circle of society does he cease from being 
worthily independent ; in no mass of people does 
he become ''indistinct as water is in water." Give 
him a congenial associate, and with him he will con- 
fidingly walk ; yet, as the forefinger of the hand 
preserves its separate consequence, notwithstanding 
its continual contact with the finger next to it, so 
he, notwithstanding his intimacy with his friend, 
will keep good the light, the importance, the worth 
peculiar to his manhood. Between him and com- 
monplace mortals, what differences ! They are sym- 
bolized by "bricks in a wall, or marbles in a bag;" 
he, by some " throbbing star." 

" They strive to seem, and never care to be ; " 

he is solidly significant and eternally real. They 
infatuatedly gaze on the glittering apparel and the 
imposing train of "pageant power;" he is ready to 
say with Emerson, " Give me health and a June 
day, and I will make the pomp of kings ridiculous." 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 369 

Your commonplace mortal is unable by gaudy 
attire, stylish manners, or any other means, to com- 
pensate his or her lack of a right self-distinctive- 
ness. Behold that one ! Her person shines with 
diamonds. But is the diamond brilliance her bril- 
liance ? Is she, with all her precious ornaments, 
anything more than what she is? — anything, that 
is to say, but a being whose best self-shed light is a 
stale splendor? Dickens makes David Copperfield 
say of the fashionable but commonplace Mrs. Water- 
brook, that she was either a large lady or she wore 
a large dress, he didn't know which ; for he couldn't 
determine which was dress and which was lady. 
Mrs. Waterbrook may be taken as the type of a 
class ; and that class is composed of those who, 
for the want of individuality, are scarcely distin- 
guishable from their furbelovved, fringy, and garish 
clothes. There are a thousand and a thousand 
women and men who are glorying in a glory which 
is not their own. Not one fine beam of fresh ra- 
diance from themselves mixes with it. It is wholly 
produced by things outside of them. And they, 
how much better are they for having it? Certainly 
no better at all. Their commonplace souls are just 
as monotonous and insipid as they would be with- 
out it. Thackeray, in a chapter on" Dinner-going 
Snobs," speaks of persons "who trail a peacock's 
feather behind them, and think to simulate the gor- 
geous bird whose nature it is to strut on palace- 
terraces, and to flaunt his magnificent fantail in the 
sunshine." Such instances of poor-silly-jayism suc- 
ceed not, nor do any other instances of simulated 
importance succeed in proving to be more than they 
24 



370 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

are. Now, on the other hand, the person who is 
habitually and decidedly individual could not, were 
he to attempt so to do, hide the fact that he is a 
distinct source of light and influence. His full- 
grown habit of doing justice to himself, his sterling 
" ownness of impulse and insight," does and will 
have an undirn expression. Wherever he may be, 
he will, in not a little that commands respect, ap- 
pear as nobody else. The author of English Traits 
tersely says of the typical Englishman, " He is a 
king in a plain coat." The same averment may 
emphatically be made of any wearer of a plain coat 
anywhere in this world who has learned how to be 
his own. " A healthy soul," says Carlyle, u im- 
prison it as you will in squalid garrets, shabby coat, 
bodily sickness, or whatever else, will assert its 
heaven-granted, indefeasible freedom, its right to 
conquer difficulties, to do work, even to feel glad- 
ness." 

The man of true individuality has in his own self- 
knowing substance a fortified center. He holds 
that center as a garrison holds a citadel. Nothing 
can be there that is not his own. His soul, with its 
faculties, while recognized by him as his, is con- 
stantly felt by him to be him. People call him 
eccentric. Reason why : he is a distinct man, who, 
from the roots of his nature up, is peculiar. The 
hunger of his intellect will not be satisfied with 
precisely the aliment that satisfies other intellects. 
Most minds feed on appearances ; his feeds only on 
what it finds good for it beneath appearances. Ob- 
serve him, and see wherein and how he is eccentric. 
lie surprises mortals with things fresh and quick- 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 371 

ening, which have emanated from his mental matrix. 
His presence is different from every other presence. 
He stirs others with spontaneities which are some- 
times keen and piquant, and sometimes blunt. 
Often he overwhelms others with rich gushes of 
strange eloquence. His thoughts come not till they 
are ready ; but when they do come, they present 
themselves as if they had leaped into the vehicles 
which carry them. When he speaks and when he 
writes, he expresses either himself or what belongs 
to himself. He scorns to appropriate, after the 
manner of the literary pilferer, the ideas and the 
ideals, the conceptions and the sentiments of others. 
It was such a one as he that invented the compass ; 
it was such a one as he that ran out and cried, ''Eu- 
reka ! " on occasion of the discovery of the law of 
specific gravity ; it was such a one as he that com- 
posed the story of the Pilgrim's Progress ; it was 
such a one as he that wrote the imperishable max- 
ims of Poor Richard's Almanac. In the general 
sense in which he is eccentric, Joshua, the pioneer 
warrior of the Holy Land, was eccentric ; Daniel, 
the prophet, whose eye thrilled lions, was eccentric ; 
William Tell, the deliverer of the Swiss cantons 
from tyranny, was eccentric. 

Eccentricity, when it implies genuine individual- 
ity, is neither to be contemned nor to be ridiculed ; 
it is to be respected. They that are practical illus- 
trators of that olden heroism which was symbolized 
in the firm, gritty material of the few mighty moun- 
tains of the earth that triumphantly resisted the 
scouring agencies of the drift-period ; they that are 
accustomed to think profoundly and to declare their 



372 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

thoughts self-reliantly ; they that dare to assail pop- 
ular evils at the risk of being reproached and de- 
famed b}^ a selfish multitude ; they that, with a sad 
disgust for the circles where vanity and folly ex- 
hibit themselves, retire to solitary places, and there, 
as explorers, as writers, or as artists, devote their 
powers for the improvement of mankind, — all these 
are eccentric. And they are so because they have 
true self-clistinctiveness. It may be said that all 
the prized things which are suggested by that word 
"civilization," testify to the important significance 
of a solidly-sustained eccentricity. He who is de- 
termined to be, at all times and everywhere, a 
brave, earnest, irrepressible man, honest for hon- 
esty's rather than for policy's sake, unswerving from 
the course of duty as a planet from its path, and 
never stooping to do a mean deed, must expect to 
be called eccentric. What is wanted on the part of 
people in this age — what is specially wanted on the 
part of American men and women in this age — is 
pride in being worthily eccentric. There is too 
much ground for the complaint thrown out by 
Emerson that "our tendency is to make all alike, 
and to extinguish individuality." A hundred thou- 
sand souls, marked each by an interesting distinct- 
ness of character, are needed in our nation. The 
ranks of the starlike should be recruited ; who is he 
that, by being himself truly individual, will con- 
tribute toward filling them up?* 

* A very few of the thoughts presented in the last two para- 
graphs are almost the same as some expressed by me in an article 
entitled Derived Men and Radical Men, which was published in 
the National Magazine for September. 1855. And here I will 



THE PEIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 373 

III. 

MASTERFULNESS AND TENDERNESS. 

" He only is advancing in life whose heart is getting softer, 
whose blood warmer, whose brain quicker, whose spirit is entering 
into living peace. And the men who have this life in them, are the 
true lords or kings of the earth— they, and they only." 

Rcskin, Sesame and Lilies, p. 67. 

" The man most man, with tenderest human hands, 
Works best for men, — as God in Nazareth." 

Mrs. Browning, Aurora Leigh, p. 348. 

The person that has bred himself to self-mastery 
is one who, should he travel round the globe, would 
everywhere show, not only an admirable swaying 
power, but also a lovable loving power. He is 
sweet-souled as well as high-souled, merciful as 
well as strong, a tender fellow-mortal as well as a 
masterful human being. There are those who, in 
proportion as they cultivate and enrich their minds, 
become unemotional and frigid ; but not so does he. 
There are those who, in order to attain to superior 
importance, sacrifice pity to dignity, and leave their 
lovingness to dry up under the influence of a parch- 
ing ambition ; but not so does he. Assign to this 
man duties in war, and he will be a Washington-like 

state, that a year ago, while on the Pacific coast, it was my sin- 
gular lot to see, in a San Francisco paper, under the heading of 
Types of Men, and over the signature of some regular contributor, 
nearly the whole of said article, appearing as if it were that con- 
tributor's own production. Should the plagiarist ever read this 
marginal note, it is hoped his recollection of his literary theft will 
result in some wholesome twinges of his conscience. 



374 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

fighter ; intrust to him tasks in peace, and he will 
be a Franklin-like achiever. Should he be provoked 
to wrath, he would have (to use the language of 
Algernon Sidney) " a look full of amiable fierce- 
ness, as in whom choler could not take away the 
sweetness." The elder Cato, one of those old-time 
pattern Romans who were " kingly in their thoughts," 
was wont to say that he preferred the character of a 
good husband to that of a great senator. " When 
he had a son born," says Plutarch, "no business, 
however urgent, except it related to the public, 
could hinder him from being present while his wife 
washed and swaddled the infant." Phocion, who 
lived a hundred }'ears before Cato, was not less mas- 
terful nor less tender than he. On one occasion, 
Chares, the orator, by way of disparaging him, 
made mention, in a speech to the Athenians, of his 
dignified brow. The noble Greek replied : 

" This brow of mine never gave one of you an hour of sorrow; 
but the laughter of these sneerers has cost their country many a 
tear." 

Says Jean Paul : " Do we not admire it in great phi- 
losophers, e. g., Malebranche, and great generals, 
e. g., Scipio, that, after the greatest achievements 
which they made in the kingdom of truths, or in a 
geographical, they betook themselves to the nursery, 
and there carried on real child's fooleries, in order 
gently to relax the bow wherewith they had shot so 
many lies and liars to the ground ? " And Jean 
Paul himself — Jean Paul, who has been justly 
called "a colossal spirit," — could have been seen, 
at one time and another, tenderly feeding his pet 
mouse, or his pet spider, or his pet tree-frog. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 375 

I like to read of Epaminondas, the most masterful 
of the Greeks, yet one of the tenderest of them. 
He declared that the satisfaction which exceeded 
every other lie had ever felt, was his satisfaction 
when he saw the pleasure of his father and mother 
over his victory at Leuctra. Cicero was accustomed, 
after delivering his splendid orations, to find delight 
in calling together his children, and having a romp 
with them. Montaigne, though he associated with 
kings, was of such habits and such a temper as 
" smoothed his intercourse even with the lowest." 
When the citizens of Bordeaux had elected him as 
counselor, he told them frankly what he thought to 
he his deficiencies, but added that he was " without 
hatred, without ambition, without avarice, and with- 
out violence." Sir John Franklin was (according to 
Sir Edward Parry) " a man who never turned his 
back on a danger, yet of that tenderness that he 
would not brush away a mosquito." Lord Macaulay, 
while he was intellectually grand and regnant, was, 
as his friends knew, fascinatingly tender, and, as his 
sisters knew, adorably so. 

That unparalleled American, Daniel Webster, 
traveled many miles over a rough road, to an ob- 
scure village, in order to see old John Colby, his 
brother-in-law, who, after a long life as a brawny 
sinner, had become a Christian. " He won't know 
me," said Webster, "and I shall not him; and I 
don't intend to make myself known at first." 
When Colby, who was found reading his Scott's 
family Bible, came to understand that his visitor 
was the great orator and statesman whom he re- 
membered as " the little black lad that used to ride 



6 lb THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the horse to water," he said, " Is it possible that you 
have come up here to see me ? " They embraced 
each other, and wept. And Daniel Webster, at 
John Colby's request, knelt down and prayed. 
Webster solicited the favor of a bowl of bread and 
milk ; and to his friend Peter Harvey, who accom- 
panied him, and who partook with him of the same 
kind of refreshment, he remarked, with a pathetic 
simplicity, after they had finished eating, " Didn't it 
taste like old times ? " 

Of William H. Seward, the Montesquieu of the 
United States, it is fitting to say, How great he was, 
and how amiable he was ! Thus did men of lands 
far-off and strange — dusky-visaged dignitaries who 
had met him and conversed with him, as he went 
journeying in his simple, kingly fashion from conti- 
nent to continent, and from nation to nation around 
the varied world — feel to exclaim, when they heard 
that his fertilizing and civilizing life had ended. In 
the case of Stanle} 7 also, — Stanlej^, the enterprising, 
dauntless, indefatigable explorer of the Congo, — 
there has been illustrated the fact that the man who 
knows how to be his own possesses the two qual- 
ities, masterfulness and tenderness.* Think of him 
as sailing toward the dreadful unknown, in sight 

* What is said here might seem to be belied by the affair at 
Bumbireh, known as that in which Stanley punished severely the 
wicked natives belonging to one part of the coast of the great 
interior African lake. But after meditating on that affair in all its 
recorded particulars, the author of this book has failed to find 
reason in it for imputing to the explorer a lack of mercifulness or 
tenderness. They who think otherwise would probably deem it 
cruelty to shoot down a burglar while he is in the act of house- 
robbery. 



THE PKIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 377 

and in hearing of swarms of wild Africans on the 
shore, who fiercely shout to him to turn back. 
Think of him as pausing at the first series of fearful 
cataracts, and looking ahead into a region of diffi- 
culties and perils reputed to be impassable, and 
calmly resolving, since it is impracticable to return, 
to go forward, and, if death cannot be avoided, to 
"show manliness and die." Think of him as mov- 
ing his boats for thirteen miles on rollers laid for 
them in a road cut through the tropic jungles at the 
river's side. Think of him as afterward reaching 
and passing a series of cataracts comprising ten 
times as man}' as the first one, and once at least 
taking his boats over a mountain two thousand feet 
high. And think of him as at last, in spite of can- 
nibals, and of cataracts, and of toils, strains, and 
privations, which made him " an old man in his 
thirty-fifth year," proving successful, and standing 
forth the one and only pathfinder adown the Mis- 
sissippi of Africa ! Men who listened to his unaf- 
fected story of that amazing voyage perceived that 
he was "gentle-voiced and gentle-mannered ; " and 
they wonderingly asked themselves whether it were 
a fact or a dream that they were beholding and 
hearing the invincible successor of the great Living- 
stone — the evermore illustrious Stanley. 

So it ever is: he who is rightly individual and 
unique fulfills the aphorism of Marcus Aurelius, 
" A man must stand erect, not be kept erect by 
others;" he also unbends and relaxes, showing that 
within him is a heart not made of metal or of rock, 
of wood or of leather, but made of flesh. 



THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



IV. 

DESIRE OF EXERTION. 

" The wise for cure on exercise depend." — Dryden. 
"Who wrestles in his soul must victor be." — Bayard Taylor. 

To him whose soul is in a healthy state, idleness 
is endlessly distasteful, its opposite endlessly sweet. 
He is bent on bestirring himself. Budgell, a writer 
who lived in the days of Steele and Addison, re- 
marks that nothing so much shows the nobleness of 
the soul, as the fact that "its felicity consists in 
action." Be this however it may, certain it is that 
he who is my hero and my nobleman, he who under- 
stands the science and the art of self-mastery, has 
among his distinguishing peculiarities an undying 
desire of exertion. This he rejoices to supply, just 
as one who is thirsty rejoices to drink. Accordingly, 
he is ever busy at some mental or pl^sical task, ever 
heartily 

"Employed about some honest thing." 

Plutarch speaks of a person who refused to let him- 
self be satisfied in a certain path of investigation, 
because he found so much delight in his studies and 
researches therein. " I would rather," said Seneca, 
" be sick than idle." Philip the Good, an honored 
duke of Burgundy, while passing the period of a 
royal marriage celebration at Bruges in Flanders, so 
pined for something to do, that, to find relief, he 
walked during the evenings in disguise all about the 
town. Such was Jean Paul's love of exertion, that 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 379 

he was moved to sa}^, " It is not the goal, but the 
course, which makes us happy ; " and such was 
Lessing's love of it, that he extravagantly said : 
" Did the Almighty, holding in His right hand 
Truth, and in His left Search after Truth, deign to 
proffer me the one I might prefer, in all humility, 
but without hesitation, I should request Search after 
Truth." 

Now, such fondness for exercise and effort as that 
which these men had is surely not a characteristic 
of people in general. Look around on the many ! 
They will be seen to be feverish and restless, yet 
undesirous of any application adapted to tax the 
brain or to test the muscles. The one thing they 
least long for is work. When they have a task 
to perform, their first thought is, how to dispatch it 
at the smallest possible cost of exertion. Every 
occasion of intense employment makes them either 
sad or sulky. They would rather shed a gill of 
tears than a thimble-full of sweat ; and, should any 
specimen of them carry a bag of flour or of meal 
from a gate to a kitchen-door on his shoulders, he 
would groan as if he deemed himself to be Atlas 
with the world on his back. A person needs to 
take care, lest he by accident give offense to some 
man of commonplace respectability, who has ten 
minutes of digging, or chopping, or lifting to do ; 
for patience and exertion, in the case of such a one 
as he, are on the worst of terms with each other. 
Could there not be counted by the hundred, farm- 
ers, mechanics, merchants, physicians, lawyers, who 
would be well pleased to reap success without doing 
anything to earn it? Could there not be numbered 



380 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

by the score students, who would be glad to secure 
college-honors, if it were possible to do so merely 
by droning about the college-hive? " How many 
men," says Emerson, " would fain go to bed dunces, 
to be waked up Solomons ! " 

By the majority of those that figure in any depart- 
ment of modern life, exertion is regarded with a kind 
of horror, as if it were a terrible monster, hanker- 
ing after flesh, and blood, and all else that belongs 
to the physical man. Thinking of them, one is re- 
minded of the ambition of that Frenchman who is 
represented by Edmund About as wishing to marry 
his daughter into a family that had performed no 
work for four hundred years. Mistaken mortals ! 
They consider not that, from history's morning till 
this hour, the human race has been, by virtue of 
human exertion, kept from running down to a sleepy 
flatness and a simpering inanity. Solid character, 
triumphant manhood, blissful life — these, in all 
ages, have been products of work. No patriarch or 
prophet, no evangelist or apostle, could without 
work have grown radiant and great. From it have 
sprung all abiding books, all models of fine art, all 
useful tools and machines, all discoveries which, like 
that grand Newtonian one, have exalted mankind's 
ideas of creation. 

The true man — he who has learned how to be 
his own — is a work-lover. Fain is he, wheresoever 
he may be, to be up and doing. In words, such as 
those ascribed by Tennyson to Ulysses, he is ready 
to say : 

" How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 
To rust unlurnished, not to shine in use ! " 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 381 

Ineffable is the pity with which he looks on brain- 
sick loungers and humdrum dreamers, on sluggish 
prodigals and thriftless gamesters. Waiting not for 
the future to become the present, he goes straight 
to his task, and, like Dickens' Mr. Peggotty, in all 
things wherein he wants help does his own part 
faithfully, and helps himself. He does not scorn 
recreation ; for no dreary, self-grinding mortal is he. 
Kuskin makes the remark, that, "when men are 
rightly occupied their amusement grows out of their 
work, as the color -petals out of a fruitful flower." 
Beautifully is this said. It is, however, not true 
that exemplary workers derive all their amuse- 
ment from their work. They betimes withdraw 
from their tasks, and hunt, fish, stroll, ride, sail, 
climb, swim, swing the ax, or wield the garden- 
hoe. They at least travel, with willing heart, far 
out, 

" To see the pleasant fields, the crystal fountains, 
And take the gentle air among the mountains." 

The true man's desire of exertion renders him 
genuinely energetic. And to be so, let it be noticed, 
is not merely to be forceful. The former term is 
expressive of sustained and continued endeavor, the 
latter of irregular effort. The former term suggests 
what John Foster calls " the calmness of an inten- 
sity kept uniform by the nature of the human mind 
forbidding it to be more, and by the character of 
the individual forbidding it to be less;" the latter 
suggests an unregulated, fitful might, a species of 
puissance which is liable to make its way with the 
flash and the noise of a sudden and vehement stren- 
uousness. He who is energetic steadily and surely, 



382 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

like gleaming embers of anthracite, produces posi- 
tive effects ; but he who is forceful rather than ener- 
getic, is apt to be impetuous like a stream swollen 
by a soaking rain-fall, or explosive like cotton which 
has been saturated with a detonating mixture, or 
eruptive like the hidden fire-fluid of the earth when 
it is hungry for volcanic vent. 

Let it be noticed, also, that to be energetic is not 
merely to be active. One may be continually active, 
and yet be as destitute of genuine energy as a wheel 
that incessantly, but to little purpose, whirls round 
on a dry axis. How many quick-moving doers there 
are that never victoriously do anything ! According 
to an Anglo-American authority, there are not a few 
bustling Anglo-Americans that " would readily risk 
their lives for the chance of arriving anywhere five 
minutes before anybody else." Ten thousand mor- 
tals can be found that have an unremitting tendency 
to motion, but a very fickle tendency to true exer- 
tion. A person can be exceedingly busy, without 
being effectually operative. A person can be all the 
day and every day self-urging and hurrying, without 
being accustomed to experience any such thing as 
a real inner awakening, or a "level-eyed, heroic 
mood." 

The energetic person manfully evokes the latent 
caloric of his nature, and gives it manifestation in 
looks, words, and deeds ; he unfussily puts forth the 
power of doing work ; he calmly shows himself to be 
efficaciously alive. All leaders of mankind, molders 
of the masses, reformers, nation-builders, pattern- 
heroes, answer to this account. Epaminondas had 
to be efficaciously alive, before he could become the 



THE PEIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 383 

sublime Greek that he was ; Julius Caesar had to be 
thus alive, before he could become the master-Roman 
that he was ; Luther had to be thus alive, before he 
could become qualified to relieve Christianity as he 
did, of the hold and the pressure of the sharp-nailed 
papal paw. Find me a man of genius who lazily 
exists rather than efficaciously lives, and I will con- 
vince you that he is no man of genius. Genius — 
what is it ? It is a native basis of competency, 
which is of finer quality than usual, or more suscep- 
tible of being turned to wide advantage than usual, 
and which is demonstrated in vivid and striking 
expressions of concentrated energy. Not anything 
is it that can appertain to a person, and yet remain 
forever quiescent or dormant. If there be that in a 
man which, in no instance, is roused and made to 
reveal itself in a process of effort, be assured it is 
resolvable either into something totally unlike ge- 
nius, or into nothing. To say that one has genius 
but never exerts it, is virtually to say that he has it 
not. " Genius unexerted," declares Emerson, " is no 
more genius than a bushel of acorns is a forest of 
oaks." 

How wonderful soever may be the gifts attributed 
to a man, he will in vain be expected to do one won- 
derful act, nay, even one impressive common act, 
unless he have genuine energy. A copper wire 
stretched between two towns might just as reasona- 
bly be expected to serve for telegraphic communi- 
cation without the help of an electric current. Only 
they that are energetic are thoroughly awake. Only 
they that are energetic are entitled to be ranked with 
the really living. The indolent person scarcely has 



384 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

his soul's eyes open. He is destitute of the desire 
of exertion, and consequently is uniformly unener- 
getic. The power of doing work is in a state of 
slumber within him, and that slumber tends to be- 
come a kind of death. Of one who idles away his 
time in arid retirement, or lingers listlessly amid the 
hum of wholesome business, choosing day by day to 
avoid every task that he can, it may truly be said 
that he is not alive like other men. By reason of 
the lack of stir in him, he does at most but faintly 
live. A fit symbol of him is some water-pool which 
has been still so long that it has become stagnant. 
Every inhabitant of this rugged planet who is prov- 
ing to be in possession of himself, is energetic — 
energetic in the sense of being evenly-zealous in a 
straightforward, " deedful life," — energetic, 

" Like as a star, 
That maketh not haste, 
That taketh not rest," — 

energetic, after the manner of cheerful, perennial 
workers, who have "no Indian taste for a tomahawk- 
dance, no French taste for a badge or a proclama- 
tion," or after the manner of the fine athletes of 
ancient Greece, whose very fibers seemed to be con- 
scious. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OE AVAIL. 385 



V. 

DECISION, DETERMINATION, RESOLUTION. 

..." What he will, he does." 

Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida. 

" He resolved henceforward not to lean on others, but to walk 
self-confident and self-possessed — no longer to waste his years in 
vain regrets, nor wait the fulfillment of boundless hopes and indis- 
creet desires ; but to live in the present wisely, alike forgetful of 
the past and careless of what the mysterious future might bring. 
And from that moment he was calm and strong; he was reconciled 
with himself." Longfellow, Hyperion, p. 359. 

Among the distinguishing peculiarities of him 
who knows how to be his own, will be found to 
be three closely-allied traits, each of which is a 
characteristic habit of the will. They are all aptly 
named in this forcible saying, which I quote from 
an authoritative lexical page : * " Martin Luther was 
equally distinguished for his prompt decision, his 
steadfast determination, and his inflexible resolution" 

The one of them first to be considered, is decision. 
We shall be helped to discover the full meaning of 
the term, by glancing at its etymology. It is of 
famous ancestry ; for the Latin preposition de (from), 
and something of the Latin verb caedere (to cut), 
are perceivable in its composition. The elements 
which mingle in the blood of the word, are, there- 
fore, evidently such as make it literally signify a 
cutting off. Of course, an inward rather than an 

* Webster's Dictionary Unabridged, illustrated edition, 1878, 
p. 341. 

25 



386 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

outward act is meant. Decision, as a trait of manly 
character, is the habit of cutting of! or cutting short, 
after a due time, reasonings, calculations, forecast- 
ings, ponderings, doubts, and all other mental occa- 
sions of delay or hesitation, by that exercise of the 
Avill which is known as the forming of a choice or a 
volition. In such a sense as that here stated, it is 
the theme of one of John Foster's sinewy and valua- 
ble essays — that one of five divisions, all which 
bristle with thought as the shelves of a Gibraltar 
arsenal do with arms. He therein suggestively re- 
marks : 

" A man without decision can never be said to belong to himself, 
since, if he dared to assert that he did, the puny force of some 
cause, about as powerful, you would have supposed, as a spider, 
may make a capture of the hapless boaster the very next moment, 
and triumphantly exhibit the futility of the determinations by 
which he was to have proved the independence of his understand- 
ing and his will. He belongs to whatever can seize him; and in- 
numerable things do actually verify their claim on him, and arrest 
him as he tries to go along, as twigs and chips, floating near the 
edge of a river, are intercepted by every weed, and whirled in 
every little eddy." 

In the case of self-mastered souls, decision is re- 
markably unlike any habit of short-cutting by pre- 
cipitate or reckless choosing. Many is the person 
who is wont to end mental dekys by mental strokes 
dictated neither by understanding nor by reason, but 
by vanity, by ill-bred pride, or by brutal impulse. 
He that is self-conceited decides always superficially 
and overforwardly. His choices are made in defiance 
of his judgment. He has an upstart will. He that 
is intolerant has an intense, belligerent, rancorous 
method of deciding. His choices can scarcely be 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 387 

said to end mental delays, but rather to be so acri- 
moniously hasty as to disallow them. His is a rash 
will which is a fiery foe to all opinions that differ 
from his own. He that is insolent has a blunt, rude, 
contemptuous way of deciding. In forming his voli- 
tions, he is vehemently prompt and roughly petu- 
lant. The chief qualities of his will seem to be a 
coarse stoutness and a mean boldness. He that is a 
ferocious despot, he that is a lurking desperado, and 
he that is a roaming savage — each has a wild, ma- 
levolent, hyena-like mode of deciding. The choices 
of such beings are made with a vigor awful to con- 
ceive — the vigor of a will which is monstrous and 
murderous. 

True decision of character is ever accompanied by 
a habit of careful, accurate, earnest deliberation. 
Not too soon, not too late, does its possessor exert 
his will in a cutting-off act, a conclusive choice. 
He wisely waits to " make up his mind ; " but when 
he has waited till he can wait wisely no longer, then, 
as summarily as a warrior draws his scabbarded 
weapon, so summarily he forms his volition, and it 
is as clear as a sword-blade wrought of damask 
steel. 

Alexander the Great, though not a model man, 
often vividly illustrated in his life the nature of the 
habit commended on this page. One day, while that 
hero was yet a young man, the Thessalian horse, 
Bucephalus, was undergoing trial before King Philip 
and a company of his court-officers. The grooms 
had failed to govern the animal, and Philip had con- 
cluded not to purchase him. Indeed, he had, with 
manifestations of displeasure, ordered them to take 



388 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

him away. Alexander, having keenly observed all 
the circumstances of the case, curtly and crisply 
said, " What a horse are they losing, for want of 
skill and spirit to manage him ! " This he several 
times repeated, showing, as he did so, much uneasi- 
ness : whereupon Philip replied, " Young man, you 
find fault with your elders, as if you knew more 
than they or could manage the horse better." " And 
I certainly could," said Alexander. " If you should 
not be able," rejoined Philip, "to ride him, what 
forfeiture will you submit to for your rashness ? " 
"I will pay," said Alexander, "the price of the 
horse." The whole company laughed. But the 
young man speedily took the horse by the bridle, and 
led him for some distance toward the sun — that is 
to say, in the direction in which the animal could 
not be perplexed by his own shadow. By gentle 
words and soft strokings, he subdued the fury of 
Bucephalus. Then, dropping his mantle, he mounted 
adroitly on the beast's back, held the reins loosely, 
and soon began to apply the spur. The beholders 
gazed at the scene with a distressful intentness, till 
they saw the brave rider return safe and triumphant. 
It is needless to allude to the fact that they received 
him with passionate plaudits. Plutarch states that 
Philip wept for joy, and, kissing the youth, gave 
utterance to the words : " Seek another kingdom, 
my son, that may be worthy of thy abilities; for 
Macedonia is too small for thee." Well might ex- 
ploits, prodigious and splendid, have been expected 
of a stripling, who had thus shown himself qualified 
to say, " I can and I will ! " 

Decision precludes vacillation and fickleness, those 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 389 

habits of weaklings and whimlings. It implies a 
soldier-like directness in union with a soldier-like 
energy. Henry the Third, of England, had it not; 
and the result was, he was so prone to inconstancy 
and self-contradiction, that " men neither valued his 
friendship nor dreaded his resentment." His mental 
life consisted in little more than a passing from 
freak to freak, and his reign was childishly feeble 
and notoriously imprudent. He gave place to fool- 
ish antipathies and preposterous partialities, levied 
wild exactions and made absurd bargains, gave 
promises which he did not try to keep, and took 
oaths which he did not trouble himself to remember. 
As an instance in contrast with him, I name Ethel- 
wald, that English king of the eleventh century, 
who, locating himself at Wimborne, declared he 
would " there live or there lie." I name the Earl 
of Hereford, who, when the oppressive Edward the 
First ordered him to go and take command of troops 
in Gascony, saying, " Sir earl, you shall either go or 
hang ! " replied, " Sir king, I will neither go nor 
hang ! " I name Lady Jane Grey, who, when her 
aged friend, Ascham, came to her prison, bringing a 
poisonous drug, which he besought her to swallow 
that she might avoid death on the scaffold, gently 
but promptly repulsed his hand, and reminded him 
that " to look steadily on our fate is more noble 
than to turn from it." I name Ledyard, the heroic 
traveler, who, when Sir Joseph Banks, after sub- 
mitting to him the plan of a journey into Africa, 
asked him when he would set out, answered, " To- 
morrow morning." 

Cleomenes, the Spartan king, exemplified true 



390 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

decision. Certain ambassadors once visited him for 
the purpose of inducing him to go to war against the 
tyrant Polycrates. By the mouth of a spokesman 
they told their mission and presented their argu- 
ments. He listened to the elaborate and lengthy 
address which was delivered, and laconically re- 
plied : 

" As to the exordium, I remember it not, nor consequently the 
middle of your speech; and as to your conclusion, I will not do 
what you desire." 

Julius Caesar also exemplified it. Imagine him as 
he stands on the shore of the Rubicon, and gazes 
from Cisalpine Gaul into Italy. He is contemplat- 
ing an undertaking of momentous consequence — 
that of crossing over and advancing, with a view to 
the establishment of himself in absolute power at 
Rome. According to Plutarch, the very immensity 
of the project staggers him ; he lingers to weigh 
within himself its inconveniences ; he silentty re- 
volves the arguments on both sides ; he many times 
changes his opinion. Not willing to deliberate alone 
on his plan, he la3 7 s it before his friends. With 
them, he talks of the difficulties and the perils which, 
should he pass to the other shore of that dividing 
stream, and thence go forward and Romeward, 
would have to be encountered, of the calamities 
which the movement might bring upon mankind, 
and of the thoughts which posterity might entertain 
concerning it. Finally, he cuts short his reflections 
and reasonings, exclaims, " The die is cast ! " and, 
marching across the river, hastens to meet whatever 
may impede or resist him in the stupendous course 
he has chosen. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OE AVAIL. 391 

Every man who seeks a rare elevation in life, 
must reach a Rubicon. Would he be able, when he 
shall have arrived at it, to decide like a man ? Then 
let him become accustomed to choose for himself 
after the manner of that Ccssar. 

There is next to be considered the habit signified 
by the word determination. Its kinship to deci- 
sion is such as that which exists between fruit 
and plant, or between a stream and its source. The 
term employed to denote it has for its native con- 
stituents the Latin preposition de (from), and the 
root of the Latin verb terminare (to limit) ; there- 
fore, it literally means a limiting off. Determina- 
tion, when it expresses a single act, implies the 
limiting of a choice, so that it shall stand out 
distinct in the mind ; and not only the limiting of 
it thus, but also the keeping of it thus limited by 
holding "fast to it. Determination, when it expresses 
a habit, implies that one is continually disposed to 
make sharply-defined purposes of choices which he 
has formed, and to adhere with firmness to those 
purposes. 

Let this habit be at its best, and it will " seem to 
assume rank with the great laws of nature." Its 
possessor is a marked individual. How he differs 
from the dreamy theorist ! How unlike he is to the 
loud-promising espouser ! His style is quiet. He 
exemplifies the meaning of David Copperfield's apho- 
rism, that " a man who has any good reason to believe 
in himself never flourishes himself before the faces 
of other people, in order that they may believe in 
him."' He says, " I can ! " but never noisily declares 



392 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

how much he can ; he says, " I will ! " but never 
boastfully tells how much he will. In his very calm- 
ness, men read something equivalent to the words 
" masterfully constant." A strong, steady, persist- 
ent mortal he is, who, to his opinions, his beliefs, his 
obligations, his plans, his pursuits, 

" Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim." 

Readily distinguishable is determination, as a trait 
of true character, from every kind of mere stubborn- 
ness. There is a constancy of will, which " resem- 
bles less the reaction of a powerful spring than the 
gravitation of a big stone." Contumacious simple- 
tons and perverse brute-animals are alike represent- 
atives of it. It is shown by many a lad who is bent 
on having his own way in spite of the authority of 
his parents ; it is shown, also, by many a horse that 
is wont sulkily to stop in his harness, and refuse to 
obey his driver. I find on record such an incident 
as this : At a meeting held by some colored minis- 
ters, one of the number made a decided opposition 
to a certain measure which the others fully sanc- 
tioned. He could be moved neither by explanation 
nor by argument. Every attempt at persuasion 
drew from him the brusk utterance, " I am conscien- 
tiously opposed to it." The presiding officer, at 
length, became impatient at his frowardness, and 
said, " Brother, how are you aware that it is your 
conscience that will not permit you to join us in this 
matter ? How do you know that some other motive 
may not influence you? " " All I can tell you," re- 
plied the untractable preacher (laying his hand on 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 393 

his breast), " is, that I feel something here, which 
says, c I won't ! I won't ! I won't ! ' " 

Genuine determination is not only unmistakably 
dissimilar to absolute willfulness, but also to the 
stolid firmness of the bigot, and the foolish pertinac- 
ity of the fanatical and fribbling stickler. Not a 
few persons have a habit of will such as appertained 
to that Scotchman of Boston, who said, " I'm open 
to conviction ; but I'd like to see the man that can 
convince me." Benjamin Lay, one of the earliest 
advocates of the emancipation of enslaved negroes, 
was a determined person ; but he was far from being 
a pattern instance of determination. A little short 
man he was, with slender legs and a hunchback, a 
long white beard and a grave countenance, a benev- 
olent heart and a whimsical mind, a good conscience 
and a stubbornly persistent will. For many years 
he dwelt in a cave and practiced vegetarianism. He 
rejected all articles of food and all materials for cloth- 
ing, that had been produced either by slave-labor or 
at the cost of animal life ; and he wore tow gar- 
ments, the warp and the woof of which he had spun 
with his own hands. At one time he concluded 
that it was his duty to copy after Christ, in the 
matter of fasting for forty clays and forty nights. 
This supposed duty he undertook to perform, and 
actually persevered for three weeks in endeavoring 
to accomplish the undertaking. He ceased fasting 
only when it was impossible for him to fast longer, — 
that is to say, only when both his physical strength 
and the use of his mental faculties failed him. In 
that one case, his ill success seems to have broken 
the grip with which his will held to his purpose. 



394 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Among the various orders of illiterate sectarian 
zealots, hundreds of persons could be found who 
have a constancy of will like that which was evinced 
by the father of Buckthorne, of whom one may read 
in Washington Irving's Tales of a Traveler. That 
author attributes to Buckthorne these expressive 
words : 

" My father was amazingly ignorant, so ignorant, in fact, as not 
to know that he knew nothing. ... I sometimes posed him a lit- 
tle, but then he had one argument that always settled the question ; 
he would threaten to knock me down." 

Determination, in all praiseworthy instances, im- 
plies, not that the will is fixedly set in behalf of 
some blind passion or preconceived opinion, but that 
it is vigorously and steadfastly exerted to gain some 
reasonable end. In no respect does it resemble 
either mere animal persistence, or the grit of a nar- 
row and notional mind. It is the valuable habit 
which gives continuity to the endeavor of achievers 
and to the energy of conquerors. Without it, never 
was there, never could there have been, anything 
nobly begun and nobly done. Without it, prosper- 
ous animation and thrifty intensity in business, would 
nowhere be possible. Without it, men would live 
"lives blown hither and thither like empty ships." 
It explains the perseverance of Caesar, who, after 
his victory on the plains of Pharsalia, said : 

" I will forget this, in order to obtain such another day." 

It explains the perseverance of Ledyard, who, on 
the morning of his departure for Africa, remarked 
to his friends : 

"I am accustomed to hardships. My distresses have been 
greater than I have ever owned or ever will own to any man. Such 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL 395 

evils are terrible to bear, but tbey never yet had power to turn me 
from my purpose. If I live, I will faithfully perform, in its utmost 
extent, my engagement to the Society [the Society for the Promo- 
tion of African Exploration] ; and if I perish in the attempt, my 
honor wiil still be safe, for death cancels all bonds." 

The habit of will which remains to be discussed, 
is the one designated by the term resolution. This 
word is derived from the Latin prefix re (again), 
and the Latin verb solvere (to loosen) ; hence it car- 
ries the sense of a loosening added to a loosening, or 
a scattering. When used to signify a trait of charac- 
ter, it implies that one is accustomed, after forming 
a purpose and taking a firm hold thereon, to scatter 
from him everything that tends to hinder or with- 
hold him from accomplishing that purpose, and to 
press forward courageously and inflexibly till the 
desired object is gained. The resolute man is the 
determined man, throwing out his soul in strife and 
in struggle. The Rubicon has been crossed, and the 
strong chooser is in the process of his hero-march. 
" Daring," says Victor Hugo, "is the price paid for 
progress." The resolute man pays that price and 
goes ahead. If there is no way for him, he makes 
one. Difficulties and obstacles seem to have a sort 
of fascination for him ; and concerning dangers, he 
evidently cherishes a doctrine equivalent to that 
brave sentiment expressed by Bushnell : 

" Our human world would be an amazingly stupid place, and life 
itself a wretchedly profitless experience, if there were no dangers 
in it." 

Seneca speaks of a mariner, who, in the midst of an 
appalling tempest, said to Neptune, the deity of the 
sea : " O god ! thou mayest save me if thou wilt, and 



396 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

if thou wilt thou mayest destroy me ; but, whether 
or no, I will steer my rudder true." People used to 
hear from the lips of Magoon a never-to-be-forgotten 
incident relative to a young married man on the 
frontier, whose house was once attacked by Indians. 
While he was guarding the doors and the windows, 
an assailant, who was somewhat more bold than his 
fellows, attempted to enter by way of the chimne} T . 
His wife, hearing the rattling noise made by the 
down-coming savage, called to her companion to 
trust in God. The 3'oung head of the family, as he 
kept perforating the red devil with a long sharp 
spear, answered, " Yes, wife, I'm trusting in God ! " 
Thus it always is. He who is truly resolute does 
not object to relying on Omnipotence ; but while 
he seeks aid from heaven, he strikingly helps himself. 

The botanist teaches that the root of a tree per- 
forms at least these two offices : it holds the tree 
firm, so that passing winds and impinging objects 
cannot overthrow it ; and it enables the tree to de- 
rive from the earth the elements necessary to the 
fulfillment of its design. In like manner, the will 
of every true man serves to keep him steadfast, 
while it empowers him to obtain the things essential 
to the realization of his aim. Many a tree there is 
which has so little healthy root-power, it is not 
much more than a weak unsteady stem with an 
almost sapless top; and many a man there is who 
has so little healthy will-power, he is not much more 
than (to repeat some words used by Carlyle) " a 
most shriveled, wind-dried, dyspeptic, chill-shivering 
individual." 

It is worth while to notice how John Foster speaks 



THE PEDIE CONDITION OF AVAIL. 397 

of the class of mortals that evince genuine and high 
resolution. They are not disposed, he tells us, to be 
content in a region of mere ideas, when they ought 
to be advancing into the field of corresponding 
realities. They are to be found almost uniformly in 
determined pursuit of some object on which they fix 
a keen and stead} 7 look, and which the} 7 never lose 
sight of, while they follow it through the confused 
multitude of other things. They dare to do all that 
may become a man. They have, in their sublime 
states of firmness, a heroism like that of Shadrach, 
Meshach, and Abeclnego, like that of Daniel, like 
that of John Huss, like that of Luther, like that of 
Milton's Abdiel, — each of whom dismissed, at the 
very threshold of his great enterprise, " every wish 
to stipulate for safety with his destiny." 

To most people, poverty seems to be a condition, 
woful and abhorrent. But to him who has sterling 
resolution, what is it? Only a wholesome chance to 
obtain nobleness by battling a while with circum- 
stances. " If it be ill,'-' declares Seneca, "to live in 
necessity, there is at least no necessity to live in 
necessity." That is to say, all that one needs in 
order to rise above poverty, is to be resolute, and 
come right up out of it. " Poverty in youth," says 
Victor Hugo, "when it succeeds, has the magnifi- 
cent result of turning the whole will to effort and 
the whole soul to aspiration." To most people, mis- 
fortune seems to be something that has an unre- 
lieved terribleness. Mention to them even naught 
but the word itself, and a vague, painful idea will 
spring up in their minds ; they will feel a twinge as 
if an evil omen had flitted by them. But what is 



398 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

misfortune to resolute souls? Let the words of 
Bernardine de St. Pierre be an answer : 

" Misfortune resembles the black mountain of Bember, situated 
at the extremity of the burning kingdom of Lahor : while we as- 
cend it, we see before us only barren rocks; but no sooner do we 
reach the summit, than we perceive the heavens over our head, 
and the kingdom of Cachemire at our feet." 

Let also the words of Novalis be an answer : 

" Every misfortune is, as it were, the obstruction of a stream 
which, after overcoming this obstruction, but bursts through with 
the greater force." 

To most people, death seems to be the one event 
least of all bearable and most of all lamentable. 
Are there not a host of commonplace mortals that 
would prefer any day to do some detestable deed 
rather than die ? But surely the choice of death is 
better than that of deserving to be branded as vilely 
faithless or cringingly craven. He who has bred 
himself to high resolution neither recklessly exposes 
his life nor holds to it at the expense of his self- 
respect. Less cares he to live than to behave nobly 
while he does live. He is no mendicant seeker after 
safety. Never looks he into the future with the 
cowering spirit of one ready at all times to patch 
up some life-prolonging compromise. He dares not 
be dishonorable or mean, disloyal or treacherous, but 

... "If he be called upon to face 
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined 
Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 
Is happy as a lover, and attired 
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired." 

Macaulay relates concerning the weak revolution- 
ist, Monmouth, that, after being captured in New 
Forest, near Sedgemoor, and brought before King 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 399 

James the Second, he threw himself on the ground, 
crawled toward the king's feet, wept, and " begged 
for life, onh 7 life, life at any price." Compare him 
with that virtuous man and scholarly chancellor, 
Sir Thomas More, who, deeming it far better to 
fade in a dungeon and to die on the block than to 
speak or act in defiance of his holy conscience, tran- 
quilly endured his fate, and, in so doing, "found 
strength in that fire of the soul which is inexhausti- 
ble because it is eternal ! " Or, compare him with 
Muli Moluc, that Moorish emperor, who, when he 
saw his army yielding to his country's invaders and 
the battle going against him, flung himself from the 
litter on which he lay suffering, and, rallying his 
disorganized troops, led them to a great and victori- 
ous charge, and then died content ! Said Algernon 
Sidney, " I have ever had it in my mind that, when 
God should cast me into such a condition as that I 
cannot save my life but by doing an indecent thing, 
He shows me the time is come when I should re- 
sign it." And said that divine martyr-woman, Lady 
Jane Grey, shortly after the execution of her hus- 
band on the same scaffold where she herself was 
to die : 

"Oh, holy death! gift of heaven as well as life! thou art now 
my tutelary angel ! thou restorest me to serenity ! my sovereign 
Master has disposed of me, but since He will reunite me to my 
husband, He has demanded nothing of me surpassing my strength, 
and I replace my soul without fear in His hands ! " 



400 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



VI. 

INDEPENDENCE OF THOUGHT. 

" An ounce of a man's own wit is worth a ton of other people's." 

Sterne. 
"There is a certain noble pride through which merits shine 
brighter than through modesty." Jean Paul. 

The person who has learned how to possess him- 
self has a marked habit of thinking for himself. He 
exercises that freedom which belongs alike to all 
human beings — the freedom of the mind to have 
just what way it will in the realm of reflection and 
belief. Not opinionated is he, but he has his opin- 
ions. Not averse is he to guidance, but he will not 
be in leading-strings. He loves knowledge, and it 
is a joy to him 

..." Converse deep to hold 
With all the famous sons of old." 

Not satisfied, however, is he merely to acquire 
knowledge ; he is intent on making it, as fast as he 
acquires it, serve as intellectual nutriment, and tend 
to add to the vitality and the value of his intellec- 
tual character. All proper studies are viewed by 
him as means of educating as well as means of in- 
forming the conscious self. He extracts " that sea- 
soned life of man preserved and stored up in books," 
not simply that he may enjoy the taste of it, but 
that he may derive from it an improvement of men- 
tal capability, and an increase of mental power. 
Unlike the bookworm, whose learning lies cold and 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 401 

juiceless in the mental store-room whereinto it has 
been huddled, he cares less to accumulate learning 
than to be a wise and successful appropriator of it. 
Unlike the literary gourmand, who peruses books 
solely for gratification's sake, he reads that his intel- 
lect may be enriched rather than filled, that he may 
know more rather than indulge himself more. Un- 
like the pedant, whose mind is (as Montaigne says) 
" swelled and puffed up with vain and empty shreds 
and snatches of learning," he not only learns but 
thinks, and, as he does so, seems ever to conform to 
the great lesson wrapped up in those euigmatic 
words of Confucius : 

"Knowledge consists in knowing what we know, and also in 
knowing what we do not know." 

Unlike the visionary contemplatist, who, when not 
poring over volumes which afford materials for ex- 
travagant ideals, is passing his time in futile philos- 
ophizing or aimless musing, he is a candid inquirer 
who is determined not to take fancies for facts, and 
a vigorous reasoner who is bent on accurately 
distinguishing truth from error. 

The independent thinker keeps abreast with the 
times. Not willing is he to be ignorant of the latest 
inventions and discoveries ; not content is he to be 
indifferent to the grand progress-waves which roll 
over the ocean of human life. Remarkable is the 
contrast which exists between him and those people 
who go only to their almanacs to get information 
about the sky; who are wise in respect to breadstuffs 
and dry-goods, but stupid in respect to the nations ; 
who buy numerous baubles and sweetmeats, but 
26 



402 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

almost never buy a valuable book ; who, if they should 
be told that the planet Mars has two moons, or that 
vocal sounds can be conveyed from city to city by tel- 
ephone, or that speech can be taken down and re- 
peated by phonograph, or that the explorer Stanley 
traced the Congo River of Africa twenty-eight hun- 
dred miles from its source toward its mouth, would 
doubtless be ready dreamily to say, " Why, where 
did you learn it ? " 

He is also in contrast with all unimproving con- 
servatives. Those who have seen the pine stumps 
which tenaciously hold to the soil on Pennsylvanian 
or Michigan highlands, have beheld symbols of this 
class of mortals. They are instances of inveterate 
standstillism. As to their opinions on various sub- 
jects and questions, they stand precisely where they 
stood half a lifetime ago. Goldsmith mentions one 
of them that was a theologian. The man's unmanly 
fixedness in respect to what he held to be sound 
doctrine was evinced in the declaration : 

" When I say religion, I, of course, mean the Christian reli- 
gion; and when I say Christian religion, I would have you know, 
sir, that I mean the Church of England." 

Montaigne refers to a very singular specimen of 
the same class of conservatives. The person was a 
certain stiff-minded son, who, having been seen to 
beat his father, and having been reproved for so 
doing, replied that it was a custom which had come 
down along the family line ; that, in like manner, 
his father had beaten his grandfather, and his grand- 
father his great-grandfather. And, in passing, I am 
moved to cite one more instance. It is that of a 
venerable lady, of Worcester County, Massachu- 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 403 

setts, who refused the gift of a load of fuel from a 
tree which had been struck by lightning, because 
she so fixedly held to the belief that some of the 
electric fluid yet remained in the wood, unfitting it 
to be safely used in her kitchen-stove. 

True independence of thought does not and can- 
not coexist with habitual unprogressiveness. When 
Melancthon, the colaborer of Luther, was once 
chided for renouncing a belief which he had some 
time before avowed and advocated, he answered: 

" Do you think that I have been studying for thirty years with- 
out learning anything ? " 

The eminent geologist, Hugh Miller, alluding to his 
change of opinion respecting the length of the 
demiurgic days, says that, after in some degree com- 
mitting himself to the other side, he had yielded to 
evidence which he had found it impossible to resist. 
" And such in this matter," he adds, " has been my 
inconsistency — an inconsistency of which the world 
has furnished examples in all the sciences, and will, 
I trust, in its onward progress, continue to furnish 
manj T more." Narrow and dry is the mind that is 
set in its notions. That man is meanly courageous 
who battles for an old conviction which ought to be 
displaced by a new conclusion. Let him think of 
the Galileos and the Bacons, the Howards and the 
Wilberforces, and the other heroes who have broken 
mankind's hold on errors, and be ashamed of his 
courage ! In all ages, have not the most persevering 
antagonists of civilizers been dingers to antiquated 
whims and dogmas ? There is a land where such 
persons might be counted by the million. It is 



404 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

China. Those doughty antipodes will not let go 
the musty notion that, if they were to open their 
coal-mines by underground workings, they would 
destroy the equilibrium of the earth, and turn the 
Celestial Empire upside down. 

The point last to be brought out in the treatment 
of the present topic is this : he who is wont to think 
independently is wont to think liberally. It may be 
said of him, in the language of Cicero, that he is 
" neither abject nor overbearing." Magnanimously 
does he carry himself toward opponents, and gen- 
erously does he treat even impudent fools. He 
scorns to hate a man for disagreeing with him in 
idea or in belief ; and of all oppressors, the tyrant- 
bigot who would fain force his opinions on those 
who see fit to refuse them is the one whom he re- 
gards with the least patience. " He who is his own 
friend," says Seneca, "is a friend to eveiybody else." 
Such, in a high sense, was the Puritan liberalist, 
Roger Williams, who maintained that heresy should 
be left " unharmed by law, and orthodoxy unpro- 
tected by the terrors of penal statutes." And such 
was William Penn, the self-mastered Quaker, whose 
way it was to meet all men, not excepting Indians, 
" on the broad pathway of good faith and good 
will," and whose life was an illustration of the 
truth expressed by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: 

" Great is he 
Who uses his greatness for all." 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 405 



VII. 

ORIGINALITY AND CREATIYENESS. 

"He organizes the hours, and gives them a soul; and that, the 
very essence of which is to fleet away, and evermore to have been, 
he takes up into his own permanence, and communicates to it the 
imperishableness of a spiritual nature." Coleridge. 

"Even the insignificant grows great under his creating hand." 

Schiller. 

Commonplace mortals contain ideas, but do not 
originate thoughts. They speak and act, sometimes 
in one mode and sometimes in another ; but, as 
speakers and actors, they are the real authors of not 
one distinctive element of their expression, they 
make for themselves no part of their style. When 
they think, they do but review what they have read 
or have heard. When they write, they do but use 
words after the same manner in which somebody 
else has used them. When they perform a piece of 
work, they do but copy some other piece of work. 
They are imitators, borrowers, followers. Jean 
Paul must have meant them, when he wrote in his 
Titan the words : 

"Men, in respect to ceremonies, modes, and laws, like a flock 
of sheep, will, in a body, provided the bell-wether can only be got 
to leap over a pole, continue to leap carefully over the same place 
when the pole has been taken away." 

The simple truth is, commonplace mortals have no 
originality, no creativeness. I use the terms here 
italicized not synonymously, but as significant each 
of a distinct trait of character. Let it be under- 



406 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

stood that, on these pages, the former is employed 
to denote the habit of evolving new thought and 
giving rise to new combinations of thought ; the 
latter, to denote the habit of clothing or embodying 
thought in a new garb or in new forms. 

Both these fine habits mark the person who has 
learned how to be master of himself. That such a 
one is an instance of originality, is implied in the 
two facts that he is characteristically individual as a 
man, and that he is characteristically independent 
as a thinker. He abounds with ideas which are 
peculiar to him. On the loom of his mind, he 
weaves for himself wefts of argumentation, and 
obtains deductions which are his own. He puts 
together for himself the materials out of which 
creeds are made, and derives beliefs which are his 
own. He looks for himself "through nature up to 
nature's God," and comes to have an ideal of the 
" Over-Soul" which is his own. His wisdom and 
wit, his gayety and humor, his hopes and trusts, his 
aspirations and plans, are all " of his own growth, 
not the echo or infusion of other men." And how 
can a person answer to this description, and not be 
original? 

The self-mastered seeker after knowledge returns 
from his researches laden with thoughts, all of which 
are uncommon, and many of which are new. In 
directions of his own choosing and by routes of his 
own making, he penetrates into that which is to him 
the unknown. Often he spends the hours of the 
day as if, when he awoke in the morning, he had 
said to his faculties (in that language attributed by 
Tennyson to Ulysses), 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 407 

" Come, my friends, 
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world." 

From pattern instances he gladly draws inspiration, 
} T et is not willing to be eternally imitating them. 
He admires the luster and the gleam of great souls, 
yet scorns to be ever content to drink in their rich 
beams and thrilling rays without emitting any light 
or any lightning that has been born in himself. It 
is written concerning Aristotle, whom Plato pro- 
nounced the ornament of his academy, that while his 
companions in study evinced the " languid persever- 
ance" of intellects satisfied to be subordinate and to 
imbibe implicitly what Plato chose to impart, he 
would only let himself be stimulated in the pursuit 
after truth by the teachings and the eloquence of 
that peerless master. 

To read before beginning to think is beneficial ; 
but the exemplifier of originality does thus rather 
that he may be spurred up to think thoughts all his 
own, than that he may provide himself with anoth- 
er's thoughts. To compare one's thoughts with 
those of eminent authors, and to quote such sayings 
of eminent authors as are adapted to confirm or elu- 
cidate one's thoughts, — these are acts proper and 
handsome. Not only is the latter a help to the end 
mentioned, but it is, I think, a genteel tribute due 
to excellent and famous penmen. Do thou, however, 
beware, lest thou become accustomed to quote after 
the manner of the pedantic skimmer, who procures 
from books crutches and props for his weak and in- 
sipid ideas. Be sure, first of all, that thou hast 
thoughts which are thine own, and that there is 
some reason for deeming them not unworthy to be 



408 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

in company with noble men's thoughts. Montaigne, 
speaking of quotations, says wisely that he would 
not have them totally cover and hide him ; that he 
would make a show of nothing not his own ; and 
that "there is a great and incomparable preference 
in the honor of invention to that of quotation." 
They who admirably quote are productive, merito- 
rious thinkers, that have been holding silent com- 
munion with similar thinkers, through the medium 
of their published words. 

And at this point it is fitting to remark, that every 
mind that possesses true originality, has a quick- 
answering sympathy toward other such minds. Ac- 
cordingly, Scipio honored as he did the gifted soul 
of Marias, and Ben Jonson and David Garrick 
set the estimate they did on the exhaustless intel- 
lect of Shakespeare. Said Jean Paul: " Goethe 
is a consecrated head ; he has a place of his own 
high above us all." And thus he showed that he 
had a genius spontaneously responsive to Goethe's 
genius. Coleridge wrote to Wordsworth : 

" O friend ! my comforter and guide ! 
Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength ! " 

And thus he showed that he had a genius spontane- 
ously responsive to Wordsworth's genius. " In 
natures as in seas," says Dickens, " depth answers 
unto depth." Why did Voltaire say of Shakespeare's 
wonderful Hamlet, " One would think this play the 
work of the imagination of a drunken savage ? " 
Evidently because he had not genius enough to ap- 
preciate Shakespearean intellectuality and thought. 
Why did the poet Waller say, " The old blind school- 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 409 

master, John Milton, hath published a tedious poem 
on the fall of man ; if its length be not considered a 
merit, it has no other ? " Evidently because his un- 
originating mind, with its cheap conceptions and 
tame views, was not qualified to respond to the high 
spirit of the bard who " yoked the heathen mythol- 
ogy in triumph to his subject, and clothed himself 
in the spoils of superstition." To him, Paradise 
Lost was useless, for reasons very much like those 
which made the spectacles useless to the mole in the 
fable. It will be remembered that the mother of 
the latter, when she saw him vainly fumbling the 
goodly ocular instrument he had received, informed 
him that " spectacles, though they might help the 
eyes of a man, could be of no use to a mole." 

Originality implies that one has an unfailing real- 
ness as a thinker. His ideas are as unassumed as is 
the happiness of children. His intellect is a genu- 
ine soil, and it has a genuine productivity. Some- 
thing in harmony with this representation is ex- 
pressed in those words of Rahel, the wife of Varn- 
hagen von Ense : 

" Original, I grant, every man might be, and must be, if men 
did not almost always admit mere undigested hearsays into their 
head, and fling them out again undigested. Whoever honestly 
questions himself, and faithfully answers, is busied continually 
with all that presents itself in life, and is incessantly inventing, 
had the thing been invented never so long before. Honesty be- 
longs as a first condition to good thinking; and there are almost 
as few absolute dunces as geniuses. Genuine dunces would 
always be original, but there are none of them genuine : they 
have almost always understanding enough to be dishonest." 

Pericles exercised his mind originative^, when, 
after being followed to his door by an impudent 



410 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FOETTOE. 

man, who all the way had railed at and insulted 
him, he ordered one of his servants (as Plutarch 
states) " to take a candle and light the man home." 
Montaigne, that quaint, frank, genial, versatile author 
whom I so often name on my pages, was original in 
such an admirable and breezy sense as but few men 
have ever been. His ideas, though sometimes unrea- 
sonable, are always fresh. Even those of them that 
are ill-flavored are quickening, and even those of 
them that are but whimseys are suggestive. They 
all show that they were born of a nature used to 
" sound and vigorous raptures and delights." Read 
his preface, and you will be impressed with the 
uniqueness of his plan. He proposes to give traces 
of his quality and humor, thereby to nourish in his 
relatives and friends a more entire and lively recol- 
lection of him. He would fain be seen in his simple, 
natural, and ordinary garb, without study or artifice. 
It is himself he is to paint. " My defects," he an- 
nounces, "will appear to the life, in all their native 
form, as far as consists with respect to the public." 
Now, open his volumes at random, and notice the 
spring-like newness, juiciness, and sparkle of his 
thoughts. * Doing thus for myself, I meet in his 
chapter on Idleness, this: "The soul that has no 
established limit to circumscribe it, loses itself ; for, 
as the epigrammatist says, ' He that is everywhere 
is nowhere.' ' And in his reflections on Cato the 
Younger, this : " 'Tis the duty of good men to draw 
virtue as beautiful as they can, and there would be 
no impropriety in the case should our passion a little 
transport us in favor of so sacred a form." And in 
his essay on Anger, this : " He who is hungry uses 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 411 

meat ; but he that will make use of correction should 
have no appetite, either of hunger or thirst, for it." 
And in his discussion of Repentance, this : " In my 
opinion, 'tis 'the happy living,' and not, as Antis- 
thenes said, ' the happy dying,' in which human 
felicity consists." And in his remarks on Experience, 
this : " To attempt to kick against natural necessity, 
is to represent the folly of Ctesiphon, who undertook 
to out-kick his mule." 

An instance of originality not less entitled than 
Montaigne to admiration and honor, is Emerson. 
His thoughts are evidently designed less to serve as 
information than to serve as means of incitement. 
They are not materials of which to build character, 
but products fitted to spur up, to stimulate, and 
to inspire character-builders. Subtilty, naturalness, 
sinewiness, richness, amplitude, and withal a some- 
thing that exhilarates like morning air breathed on 
the green shore of a new land — these are among 
the qualities which give Emerson's thoughts their 
power. I care little for what, in the estimation of 
dogmatic critics, he lacks. Enough is it that I find in 
his books so much to invigorate my faculties. Froude, 
in his review of Emerson's Rep>resentative Men, nar- 
rowly asserts that the Emersonian attitude will con- 
fuse success with greatness, or turn our ethics into a 
chaos of absurdity. This is criticism, but not justice. 
The Emersonian attitude is neither that of a former 
of theories, nor that of an expounder of morals. It 
is simply that of an energizing suggester. Emerson 
aims rather to make men think than to provide 
opinions for them. He is more an electrifier of his 
readers, than he is a teacher of them. He does not 



412 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

indoctrinate souls, he increases their life. And one 
may say of him (as he himself sajs of Montaigne) : 

" He is never dull, never insincere, and has the genius to make 
the reader care for all that he cares for." 

Here I turn to treat the other habit referred to, 
— namely, creativeness. By this is meant an apti- 
tude either for expressing ideas in a style comprising 
peculiar niceties, elegancies, or other striking quali- 
ties of composition, or for embodying ideas in unique 
and superior achievements wrought in the domain 
of art. They who possess creativeness are producers 
of things which are new to human eyes or ears, 
and which, at the same time, are highly significant 
and excellent. Some of them are writers, some of 
them painters, some of them sculptors, some of them 
engravers, some of them architects, some of them 
musicians. Persons they all are who have struck 
out paths for themselves, leading from the antiquat- 
ed and the stale to the desirably fresh and the agree- 
ably surprising. There is an inextinguishable long- 
ing in them to bring to pass newer works, that shall 
be interesting objects of sense-perception ; and that 
longing is soothed and appeased by nothing short of 
the successful actualization of noble meanings and 
ideals. 

Every mortal who devises and accomplishes a 
sterling improvement, is creative. James Watt, had 
he not been so, could never have bettered, as he 
did, the Newcomen steam-engine. Victor Hugo uses 
the phrase, " creating after the Creator ; " and it 
conveys a signification not difficult to apprehend. I 
take the words to be applicable to any person who 



THE PEIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 413 

newly improves any one of the entities of unculti- 
vated nature. He who first grafted a higher kind 
of apple-bearing plant upon a lower, and he who 
first drained a swamp and turned it into a fair 
meadow, — both created after the Creator. Henry 
Bessemer, when he first made steel by blowing air 
on liquid iron as it came from the smelting furnace, 
was creating after the Creator. 

Men speak of creative talent : they mean ability 
to express or to body forth, in one's own way, the 
rare and the beautiful of the intellectual world. 
Men speak of creative genius : they mean qualifica- 
tion partly native and partly acquired, for putting 
either old thoughts or new ones in transcendent 
words or in wonderful forms. Happy for mankind 
is it that there are representatives of that and of 
this. Persons that are creative institute better 
modes of speaking and of doing. They bless the 
race with useful inventions. They impart attrac- 
tiveness to the uncared-for and the obscure. They 
give rise to a budding and a blossoming, a flush and 
a glory, on the part of bald scenes of toil and trial. 
Indeed, w T herever they fling the influence of their 
productive capabilities, life becomes young, and that 
wdiich has seemed trite, and dull, and dreary, de- 
rives a halo of magical light. Carlyle says of genius, 
that there is in it " that alchemy which converts all 
metals into gold ; w 7 hich from suffering educes 
strength, from error clearer wisdom, from all things 
good." Precious alchemy ! Did he not mean bj^ it 
creativeness, the high creativeness which enhances 
crude circumstances and illustrates the worth of dis- 
regarded opportunities, which freshens the familiar 



414 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

and brings the unprized into a felicitous subservience 
to human need ? The telescope, the steam-engine, 
the printing-press, each owed its existence, in the 
first instance, to creativeness sustained b}' an able 
will. This habit, brought to bear on glass and light, 
produced the one ; — brought to bear on water and 
heat, produced the other ; — brought to bear on 
some letters cut on the rind of a beech-tree, produced 
the third. 

The soul that thirsts to express or embody in nota- 
ble creations its ideas and ideals, seems to be ever 
seeking to give rise to some system which shall tell 
its thoughts, just as the solar system tells the 
thoughts of God. Why did Archimedes invent the 
astonishing machines which secured to him " the rep- 
utation of a man endowed with divine rather than 
human knowledge ? " This is the answer : that he 
might have in them systems that would all the time 
declare his great mathematical demonstrations. And 
how impressively were these told by that array of 
batteries, in relation to which the Syracusans (ac- 
cording to Plutarch) were no more than the body, 
while he himself was the informing soul ! The Prot- 
estant Reformation is the system wherein one may 
read the thoughts of Luther ; the Anatomy of Melan- 
choly, the system wherein one may read the thoughts 
of Robert Burton ; the Constitution of Rhode Island, 
the system wherein one may read the thoughts of 
Roger Williams ; Methodism, the system wherein 
one may read the thoughts of Wesley ; St. Paul's 
Cathedral, the system wherein one may read the 
thoughts of Sir Christopher Wren. James Fergu- 
son, the Scotch astronomer, when he was a shepherd 



THE PKIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 415 

boy in the service of farmer Glashan, used at night 
to go into the fields and lie on his back in a blanket, 
and study the sky. By means of a thread, which 
had sliding beads on it, he determined the positions 
of the planets and the stars, and then, placing the 
thread on a piece of paper, marked the positions 
thereon, and formed a little astronomic map. When 
he was some years older, he made a wooden orrery, 
which so much interested Professor McLaurin of 
Edinburgh, that he requested the young man to 
give a lecture on it to his class in mathematics. And 
those creations — what were they but systems de- 
signed to tell the clear conceptions which that vig- 
orous student of nature entertained concerning the 
harmonious spheres? 

Some persons, by reason of their creativeness, are 
worthy to be called splendid magicians, who contin- 
ually attract without ever deceiving. They seem to 
evoke exuberance and inflorescence along every tire- 
some path which they enter. The forgotten is res- 
cued by them to a gladsome remembrance. That 
which is tame they make to be as welcome as vernal 
verdure, and that which is uninviting they render as 
delightful as summer diversity. They work changes 
which are marvels of improvement. It might almost 
be said that they need but to utter a few words, in 
order to give their listeners a new view of the 
engaging power of speech ; need but to write a few 
sentences, in order to elicit from their readers expres- 
sions of gratitude on account of the existence of the 
art of composition ; need but to touch the common 
dust, in order to cause something fresh and beautiful 
to spring up out of it. It is these that are triumphant 



416 THE GEE AT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

illustrators of the value of creative genius. Roscom- 
mon aptly suggests the difference between common- 
place mortals and such persons, in his paraphrase of 
two noted lines in the Ars Poetica of Horace : 

" One with a flash begins, and ends in smoke ; 
Another out of smoke brings glorious light, 
And, without raising expectation high, 
Surprises us with dazzling miracles." 

Creativeness is not always associated with origi- 
nality. John Locke was unmistakably original; but 
the length and the complexity of many of his sen- 
tences show that he was not creative. To be fitted 
to produce works preeminently unique in meaning 
as well as in structure, a man must have both habits. 
It was by reason of the union of the two in Angelo 
and Canova, Haydn and Mozart, that they wrought, 
as artists, such consummate wonders. Shakespeare 
and Milton had them both ; and so did Ronsard and 
Du Bellay, Goethe and Schiller, Wordsworth and 
Coleridge. They coexist, also, in Victor Hugo and 
George Eliot, and in those fine poets, Tennysou and 
Longfellow, who, 

.... " Kobe all creation 
In colors celestial of amber and blue ; 
Magnify littleness and glorify commonness, 
Pull down the false and establish the true." 

I have spoken of Montaigne and Emerson as in- 
stances of originality ; I shall now speak of them as 
instances of creativeness. The former, though in 
his Essay on Vanity he professes to write " for few 
men and for few years," has ever a style of his own, 
which must have cost him, earlier or later, a nice 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 417 

i 

and brave toil. See some of his hints concerning it. 
He says : 

"The way of speaking that I love is natural and plain, as well 
in writing as speaking, and a sinewy and significant way of ex- 
pressing one's self, short and pithy, and not so elegant and artifi- 
cial as prompt and vehement. Haec demum sapiet dictio, quae 
feriet, — ' The language which strikes the mind will please it.' 
Rather hard than harsh, free from affectation; irregular, incontin- 
uous, and bold, where every piece makes up an entire body; not 
like a pedant, a preacher, or a pleader, but rather a soldier-like 
style, as Suetonius calls that of Julius Caesar ; and yet I see no 
reason why he should call it so." 

In another place, he remarks that a thing well 
said, whether it go before or come after a good sen- 
tence, is always in season ; that, even "if it neither 
suit well with what went before, nor have any very 
close coherence with what follows after, it is good 
in itself." And in still another place, he condemns 
the smothering and losing of life and marrow, as in 
Cicero's way of writing, before coming to that which 
is the real theme, or " that wherein the force of the 
argument lies," and declares himself to be in favor 
of discourses which " give the first charge into the 
heart of the doubt," rather than of those that lan- 
guish about the subjects to which they relate, and 
that delay expectation. Thus does that renowned 
essayist intimate the leading elements of his pointed, 
sententious, abrupt, and lively mode of composition. 

The style in which Emerson writes, while it is 
altogether peculiar, has for its chief feature an artis- 
tic and elegant condensation. He suggests a great 
deal in a few words. Ideas, " on the scale of a con- 
tinent," are compressed by him into short sayings. 
His essays all show themselves to be the productions 
27 



418 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

of a careful master, who is wont to mold and to 
fashion, to curtail and to abbreviate, the language 
that occurs to him, till he has exactly fitted it to 
express the deep things with which his mind is 
familiar. His custom of condensing is adapted to 
remind one of an anecdote recorded of Phocion. 
One day when the people were ready to be ad- 
dressed by him, he was discovered behind the plat- 
form absorbed in thought. " What ! at your medi- 
tations, Phocion ? " said the person who had observed 
him. " Yes," he replied, " I am considering whether 
I cannot shorten what I have to say to the Athen- 
ians." Plutarch, who relates this circumstance, ssljs 
that Phocion's speeches " were to be estimated like 
coins, not for the size, but for the intrinsic value." 
And so may it be said of Emerson's sentences. 
Notice how he talks about the sea : 

" The sea is masculine, the type of active strength. Look, what 
egg-shells are drifting all over it, each one . . . filled with men in 
ecstasies of terror, alternating with cockney conceit, as the sea is 
rough or smooth. Is this sad-colored circle an eternal cemetery? 
In our graveyards we scoop a pit, but this aggressive water opens 
mile-wide pits and chasms, and makes a mouthful of a fleet.'' 

Notice, also, how he talks about the poet Words- 
worth : 

" He lived long enough to witness the revolution he had wrought, 
and ' to see what he foresaw.' There are torpid places in his mind, 
there is something hard and sterile in his poetry, want of grace 
and variety, want of due catholicity and cosmopolitan scope : he 
had conformities to English politics and traditions; he had egotis- 
tic puerilities in the choice and treatment of his subjects ; but let 
us say of hirn, that, alone in his time, he treated the human mind 
well, and with an absolute trust. His adherence to his poetic 
creed rested on real inspirations. The Ode on Immortality is the 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 419 

high-water-mark which the intellect has reached in this age. New 
means were employed, and new realms added to the empire of the 
muse, by his courage." 

And here is another specimen of his writing : 

" The flower of civilization is the finished man of sense, of ac- 
complishments, of social power — a gentleman." 

Emerson's style is not only remarkable for a con- 
densation which is at war with all excrescences, but 
also for an exquisite piquancy, and for a force that 
often penetrates like electricity. Accordingly, Prof. 
John Nichol, in his account of it in the Encyclopae- 
dia Britannica, attributes to it epigrams which are 
electric shocks, — a terse refinement of phrase, and 
trenchant illustrations. To. read his prose, seems 
equivalent to being led along a wonderful new path, 
wherein, at every little distance, is enjoyed a fresh, 
rich, and inspiriting treat ; and to read his poetry, 
seems equivalent to being borne for the first time 
on an expanse of pellucid and perfumed waters, from 
one beautiful cove to another, and from one myste- 
rious landing-place to another. The only trouble is 
that the reader, in the one case, is generally led into 
the midst of a weird forest of uncertainties, and, in 
the other, into a wild thicket of mysteries, and left 
there. 



420 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 



VIII. 

SOCRATES. 

" We have enough wherewithal to do it, and we ought never to 
be* weary of representing the image of this great man in all the 
patterns and forms of perfection." Montaigne. 

As an ancient instance, illustrative, in a surpass- 
ing manner, of the great thing it is to know how to 
be one's own, I name " that saint of sages," who was 
the son of Sophroniscus, the husband of Xanthippe, 
and the educator of Plato. About twenty-three 
hundred and twenty-two years ago, there went about 
in Athens a Greek philosopher, who exhibited such 
fidelity to truth and to nature, such patience, such 
tranquillity, such power as a thinker, such aptness 
and eloquence as a conversationist, such clearness 
as a reasoner, such innocence of heart, such maj- 
esty in the midst of satirical defamers and tyrannical 
foes, and such fearlessness of death, as were fitted to 
secure to him. for all ages, a sacred renown. He 
allowed no troublesome accidents of life to break 
his admirable equipoise. Those with whom he was 
wont to converse were requested by him, if at any 
time the}^ should perceive in him even the incipient 
emotions of anger, to give him immediate notice of 
the discovery. According to the testimony of Xeno- 
phon, he was so pious he undertook nothing without 
invoking divine counsel, so just he never did an 
injury to any mortal, so temperate he never pre- 
ferred pleasure to virtue, and so wise he was able, 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 421 

in the most difficult cases, to judge what was expe- 
dient aud right. His mission was to incite men to 
be wise and virtuous. In accomplishing this, he 
unfolded what was wrong in opinions and characters, 
reproved the vicious for their vices, and dealt out 
sound instruction. 

It was specially his delight to teach the Athenian 
youth, who daily gathered round him, and who — 
excepting only those of them that were immoral — 
were more enticed by his discourses than by any of 
their diversions. He showed that fancied knowl- 
edge usually amounts to foolishness. Speaking of 
an unworthy man, who was represented to him as 
not having been improved by his travels, he said, 
" I very well believe it ; for he took himself along 
with him." The principal office of wisdom was 
affirmed by him to be the distinguishing of good 
from evil. When told that the god of wisdom had 
assigned to him the title of sage, he searched and 
examined himself, and drew the conclusion that his 
best doctrine was the doctrine of ignorance, and his 
best wisdom simplicity. His own superiority as 
compared with others, he attributed to the fact that 
he did not overweeningly presume that he was wise. 
Being asked what he knew, he replied : 

" I know this, that I know nothing." 

It was his wont to receive with a smiling composure 
the contradictions with which others sometimes met 
his arguments. He often prayed, " Give me the 
interior beauty of the soul ! " but, more often, his 
prayer was the petition, that there might be given 
him what was best for him. His chosen motto was, 



422 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

" According to what a man can." 

Once, when mention was made to him of something 
ill that people were saying concerning him, he briefly 
answered, " Not at all ; there is nothing in me of 
what they say." On one occasion, a physiognomist 
examined his face without knowing it was the face 
of Socrates, and pronounced it indicative of lewd- 
ness, libidinousness, and drunkenness. There was 
an outburst of laughter on the part of the audience. 
But the great sage promptly declared that naturally 
he was inclined to the vices which his face had been 
said to betray, and that by the aid of philosophy 
and discipline he had subdued his unfortunate pro- 
pensity. 

He had his own amusements. Even in his mature 
years, he thought it good to take lessons in dancing 
and in the use of musical instruments. Many a time 
did he join in playing cobnut with the little folk ; 
and not rarely did he fulfill his role with them in 
hobby-horsical sport. In endurance of toil, few 
could surpass him ; in self-control, few have ever 
equalled him. At feasts, he ate according to the 
degree of his need, not according to the supply 
before him. So sound and hale was the state in 
which, by regularity and moderation, he kept his 
frame and brain, that, though he fled not from the 
plagues which during his life visited Athens, his 
vital energy effectually repelled every seed and 
every germ of infection. 

He had genuine valor. In the midst of a battle, 
when Alcibiades his tent-mate had been wounded 
and was at the point of being captured by the enemy, 
Socrates hastened to him alone, shielded him with 



THE PJEtlME CONDITION OIT AVAIL. 423 

his own body, defended him in sight of the whole 
army, and saved his life and his armor. And when 
the thirty tyrants were, by their guards, haling The- 
ramenes to the place of death, Socrates was foremost 
in a heroic and strenuous movement to rescue him ; 
and he desisted not from his undertaking till he was 
prevailed on to do so by the expostulations of The- 
ramenes himself. 

He had his own way of thinking, and his own 
ideas, views, and beliefs. Sometimes, when engaged 
in profound thought, he seemed like one rapt in a 
marvelous transport. Plato relates of him, that, one 
day during the period in which he was connected 
with the army, he began suddenly to meditate with 
a steady abstractedness, and continued to do so till 
noon, without moving from the spot where he stood. 
The soldiers, having observed him, watched with 
interest to see how long his musing mood would 
last. The afternoon and the entire night passed, 
and still he stood absorbed in reflection. Not till 
the sun had risen in the morning, did his contem- 
plative ecstasy end. Then, after saluting that glow- 
ing orb, he went his way. 

The enemies of Socrates, knowing that the senate 
were predisposed to condemn him, charged him 
before that body with " not acknowledging the gods 
that were acknowledged bj r the state, with intro- 
ducing new deities, and with violating the laws by 
corrupting the youth." Anylus, the chief accuser, 
avowed a willingness to withdraw the charges, if 
Socrates would cease animadverting on his conduct; 
but the noble philosopher promptly replied, that, so 
long as he lived, he would never either disguise 



424 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the truth, or speak anything other than what his 
duty required. Plato, on the day of the trial, arose 
to plead for him, but was not allowed to speak. 
Socrates made without assistance his own defense, and 
it was a memorable unmasking of the guilty and 
malicious souls of those who had determined that he 
should die. After he had been sentenced, his friends 
laid a plan for his escape ; but he refused to be 
delivered from execution in the mode proposed by 
them, declaring that it would be an unbecoming in- 
fraction of the laws. To his wife, who cried out in 
his presence, " Oh, how unjustly do these wicked 
judges put him to death ! " he quietly said, " Why, 
hadst thou rather they should execute me justly?" 
While he held in his hand the appointed cup of 
hemlock, he discoursed with a saintly serenity con- 
cerning the fate decreed to him, expressing the con- 
fident trust that something of men remains after 
death, and that the condition of the good will then 
be better than that of the bad. " Whether or no," 
he remarked, " God will approve my actions, I know 
not ; but this I am sure of, that I have at all times 
made it my endeavor to please him, and I have a 
good hope that this my endeavor will be accepted 
by him." The thoughtful and amiable Erasmus, 
alluding to these words, says : 

"When I reflect on such a speech pronounced by such a per- 
son, I can scarce forbear crying out, Sancte Socrates, ora pro 
nobis ! — ' O holy Socrates, pray for us ! ' " 

Thus passed away that glorious Greek, that model 
individual of the old ages, who " would neither be 
nor be like any other thing " than a man ; and who, 
as a man, lived a life in the highest sense unique. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 425 



IX. 

THOREAU. 

" A square-set man and honest; and his eyes, 
An out-door sign of all the warmth within, 
Smiled with his lips — a smile beneath a cloud, 
But heaven had meant it for a sunny one." 

Tennyson, The Holy Grail. 

I AM to speak here of a person who, though he 
was a singular lover of solitude, was one of the 
most interesting of meditative men. He was a resi- 
dent of the town of Concord, Massachusetts ; and 
there, about sixteen years ago, he died. His funeral 
was attended and participated in by some of the 
deepest souls on the American continent. The im- 
pressions produced by his distinct style of manhood 
on those who were more than superficially acquainted 
with him, had given rise in them to an affectionate 
admiration, such as is rare in this world. Emerson, 
commemorating the noblemanship of the departed 
man, said, with an inimitable pathos : 

" The scale on which his studies proceeded was so large as to 
require longevity, and we were the less prepared for his sudden 
disappearance. The country knows not yet, or in the least part, how 
great a son it has lost. It seems an injury that he should leave in 
the midst his broken task, which none else can finish — a kind of 
indignity to so noble a soul that it should depart out of nature 
before yet he has been really shown to his peers for what he is. 
But he at least is content. His soul was made for the noblest 
society; he had in a short life exhausted the capabilities of this 
world; wherever there is knowledge, wherever there is virtue, 
wherever there is beauty, he will find a home." 



426 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Thoreau lived apart from general society. He was 
a cheerful recluse, a hermit who was characterized 
by an ardent ambition to illustrate simplicity, and 
by a fascinating " childishness of goodness." His 
stature was comparatively short, his hair flaxen, his 
nose aquiline, his eyes purely bright, and his expres- 
sion that of a man of perfect sincerity. His dress 
was the gray garb of a huntsman. 

" He took the color of his vest 
From rabbit's coat and grouse's breast." 

He showed what it is worth to know how to possess 
one's self — showed this, in a life which, notwith- 
standing it was usually solitary, was free alike from 
evidences of sickly sentimentalism, and from proofs 
of misanthropic bitterness. Not deficient in schol- 
arly acquirements was this man. He had graduated 
at Harvard, had read the English classics and the 
old English chronicles, the standard books of voy- 
ages, the Oriental Scriptures, Wordsworth, Coleridge, 
Goethe, Carlyle, De Quince} 7 , Ruskin, Emerson, and 
was a recognized naturalist and poet. From his pen 
emanated several volumes, to peruse which has been 
said to be " like walking through morning meadows 
or amid the mystic wolds of nightingales." Notice 
the titles of his works : A Week on the Concord and 
Merrimack Rivers ; Walden; Excursions; Cape Cod ; 
The Maine Woods. He was industrious and skillful 
in ways of his own. His father's occupation was that 
of a maker of lead-pencils, and under his guidance 
he learned the same craft. To that employment he 
applied himself till he had manufactured a better 
lead-pencil than any that had previously been in 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 427 

use ; but when he was congratulated in view of the 
possibility of amassing a fortune in the business, he 
answered that " he should never make another lead- 
pencil, since he did not wish to do again what he 
had done once." He refused to aim at distinction 
in any of the courses from among which educated 
young men generally chose their pursuits ; yet there 
was manifested by him no tendency either to idle- 
ness or to indifferentism. It was perceived that he 
was busy " about something, none knew what, in 
the woods around Concord." He was a good sur- 
veyor, and could ingeniously turn his hand in con- 
structing a boat or a fence, or in making a garden. 
There had become fixed in his mind the determina- 
tion to be free from a multitude of common needs, 
so that he might not be obliged to lay out in the 
acquisition of the means of a livelihood, the ener- 
gies he wished to devote to higher objects. Invita- 
tions to dinner-parties were declined by him, because 
he could not (as he thought) " meet individuals at 
them to any purpose." It was his wont, when asked 
at table which dish he preferred, to say, " The near- 
est." His singularity of life was in a marked degree 
methodical. He constantly aimed to exemplify the 
point that men can and should, by virtue of more 
natural simplicity, have fewer wants whereon to sac- 
rifice their time and their strength; and this fact 
explains the manner in which, 

" Eemote from all the pleasures of the world," 

he exercised his powers. In 1845, he built with his 
own hands a cabin, on the shore of the little lake 
called Walden, situated not far from Concord. He 



428 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

thought that there is the same fitness in a man's 
building his house that there is in a bird's building 
its nest; and, if men were generally to do so, and 
simply and honestly to provide food for themselves 
and their families, he conceived that the poetic 
faculty would be generally developed in them : they 
would sing as birds do when so engaged. The cost 
of his house he found to be twenty-eight dollars 
and twelve and a half cents. It was tight-shingled 
and plastered, was ten feet wide by fifteen long, had 
eight-feet posts, a garret, a closet, a large window 
on each side, two trap-doors, one door at the end, 
and a brick fireplace opposite. The timber, stones, 
and sand he had claimed by squatter's right. To 
his house he added a small wood-shed, building the 
same out of the materials left after the main struc- 
ture had been completed. About two and a half 
acres of the ground about his cabin were planted by 
him with beans, potatoes, peas, and maize ; and of 
the produce which resulted, he sold an amount, 
above what he needed for his own use, that brought 
him eight dollars and seventy-one and a half cents. 
That forest-cottage was his home for almost two 
years. When the first of them had passed, he com- 
pared himself with the Concord farmers in the mat- 
ter of independence, and described himself as better 
off than they, since he was not anchored to house or 
land, but was free to follow the bent of his genius 
every moment, and since, if fire had consumed his 
house or if his crops had failed, he would have 
lacked but little of being nearly as well off as be- 
fore. In eight months, while dwelling at Walden, 
he spent for food eight dollars and seventy-four cents, 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 429 

and for clothing eight dollars and forty and three- 
fourth cents. His entire expenses during the whole 
time of his residence in his recluse home, amounted 
to sixty-one dollars and ninety-nine and three-fourth 
cents, of which the sum of thirty-six dollars and 
seventy-eight cents was met by his earnings. The 
experiment convinced him that, to maintain one's 
self on this planet, will prove a pastime rather than 
a hardship, if one will but live simply and wisely. 

Thoreau's novel hermitage was a center, from 
which he was accustomed daily to go forth for the 
purpose of becoming better acquainted with the 
features, the habits, and the manners of nature's 
varied offspring. He was ever gaining fresh knowl- 
edge about animals or plants. The quick-moving 
ants and the battles they sometimes fought on the 
little elevations and in the little depressions of his 
woodyard, were observed by him with interest. 
When he walked in the forest, he took with him a 
spy-glass and a microscope, together with an old 
book wherein to place botanical specimens. Thus 
equipped, he freely ranged. Sometimes he went a 
quarter of a mile or further, to see some favorite 
flower; sometimes he listened to catch weighty mean- 
ings from slight sounds or far-sent echoes ; sometimes 
he drew the fishes to him without hook or line; and 
sometimes he fished " in the sky whose bottom is 
pebbly with stars." The brutes seemed to him to be 
"rudimental burrowing men, still standing on their 
defense, awaiting their transformation." He paid 
them a kindly respect, which, by many of them, 
was wonderfully returned. A mouse entered into 
friendship with him, and ate from his hand ; a chick- 



430 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

adee alighted on an armful of wood which he was 
carrying, and picked at the sticks without fear ; a 
phoebe built its nest in his wood-shed ; robins fre- 
quented a pine which grew inside his house ; and 
partridges hovered near, waiting for crumbs of food. 
At evening and after nightfall, rabbits gathered 
regularly to feast on what he gave them ; and he 
was continually entertained by the maneuvers of 
red squirrels. The latter grew to be so familiar, 
that occasionally they stepped over his shoe, "when 
that was the nearest way." Hares came, at dusk, 
and nibbled the potato-parings he had thrown out. 

" He saw the partridge drum in the woods ; 
He heard the wood-cock's evening hymn; 
He found the tawny thrush's broods, 

And the shy hawk did wait for him. 
What others did at distance hear, 

And guessed within the thicket's gloom, 
Was shown to this philosopher, 

And at his bidding seemed to come." 

Emerson. 

Over the door of his cabin he put the words : 

" Entertainment for man, but not for beast." 

Some of his human visitors he gratefully received, 
and with them delightedly communed and strolled ; 
but such of them as were actuated by the vulgar 
curiosity which begets intrusiveness, he regarded 
with a positive disgust. In the latter category he 
numbered those who never knew when their visits 
were at an end ; those who, on account of their 
one-ideaism, were like a hen with but one chicken, 
and that a duckling ; those who had a thousand 
ideas and unkempt heads, like hens that have charge 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 431 

each of a hundred chickens, all in pursuit of one 
bag ; intellectual centipedes ; absorbed men of busi- 
ness ; preoccupied men of restless spirit, who were 
wont to sacrifice all their time either in getting or 
in keeping a living ; ministers of the narrow-minded 
order, who spoke of God as if they enjoyed a monop- 
oly of the theme ; uneasy, inquisitive persons, who 
pried about his cupboard ; } T oung men who had 
ceased to be young, and had concluded that the 
beaten track is the safest ; and self-styled reformers 
— a sort of persons whom he pronounced the great- 
est bores of all. 

Thoreau's writings contain many sayings which 
are worthy to be reiterated often and remembered 
forever. Here are a few of them : 

" Men cannot conceive a state of things so fair that it cannot he 
realized." " If I had the wealth of Croesus bestowed on me, my 
aims must still be the same, and my means essentially the same." 
"The heavens are as deep as our aspirations are high." "How 
can we have a harvest of thought who have not had a seed-time of 
character?" "Let our meanness be our footstool, not our cush- 
ion." " Only that day dawns to which we are awake." "The 
newest is but the oldest made visible to our senses." "Men rev- 
erence one another, not yet God." " Now-a-nights, I go on to 
the hill to see the sun set, as one would go home at evening." 
"All these sounds — the crowing of cocks, the baying of dogs, 
and the hum of insects at noon — are the evidence of nature's 
health." " Men are not concealed under habits, but are revealed 
by them; they are, their clothes." " I raise my fairest and fresh- 
est flowers in the old mold." " If we take the ages into the ac- 
count, may there not be a civilization going on among brutes as 
well as men?" "It is strange that men will talk of miracles, 
revelation, and the like, as things past, while love remains." " I 
want the flower and fruit of a man, that some fragrance be wafted 
over from him to me, and some ripeness flavor our intercourse." 
" The Vedas and their Angas are not so ancient as serene contem- 
plation." " We make conquest only of husks and shells for the 



432 THE GEEAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

most part — at least apparently ; but sometimes these are cinna- 
mon and spices." " The philanthropist too often surrounds man- 
kind with the remembrance of his own cast-off griefs as an atmos- 
phere, and calls it sympathy." " Nothing makes the earth seem 
so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the lati- 
tudes and longitudes." "Time is but the stream I go a-fishing 
in." "Rescue the drowning, and tie your shoe-strings," "Our 
sadness is not sad, but our cheap joys." "How often, when we 
have been nearest each other bodily, have we really been furthest 
off!" " What wealth is it to have such friends that we cannot 
think of them without elevation! " "Let nothing come between 
you and the light. Respect men as brothers only. When you 
travel to the Celestial City, carry no letter of introduction. When 
you knock, ask to see God — none of the servants." " Aim above 
morality. Be not simply good; be good for something." "I 
long ago lost a hound, a bay-horse, and a turtle-dove, and am 
still on their trail. Many are the travelers I have spoken con- 
cerning them, describing their tracks, and what calls they answered 
to. I have met one or two who had heard the hound and the tramp 
of the horse, and even seen the dove disappear behind a cloud, 
and they seemed as anxious to recover .them as if they had lost 
them themselves." 

Futile would it be to attempt to show that Thoreau 
was faultless. On not a few questions he seems to 
have held extreme opinions. The sound of Sabbath- 
bells was not welcome to his ears. Once, when a 
Christian woman, w T ho had heard him express him- 
self, said, " Why, Mr. Thoreau, it seems to me that 
jou are going backward to paganism," he replied, 
" Say, rather, forward to paganism, madam." It is 
due, however, to affirm, that those outspeakings of 
his, which, to some persons, were suggestive of 
strange heresy, were, to those who knew how to 
understand him, simply enigmatical declarations that 
had a wholesome meaning. Such, for example, was 
his averment, that it is u necessary not to be Chris- 
tian, to appreciate the beauty and significance of the 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 433 

life of Christ." Like all great thinkers that have 
been dissatisfied with man}' existing human realities, 
he often put forth valuable truths in abrupt and 
startling hyperboles. Let him, then, be estimated, 
not according to hasty interpretations of some par- 
ticular words of his, but according to the tenor of 
his career and the drift of his thought. And far 
hence be the day when there shall be none to honor 
the name of that Concord nobleman whose mission 
it was to exalt simple and natural things, and who 
thanked God that men cannot cut down the clouds ! 



X. 

LINCOLN. 



Natura lo fece, e poi ruppe la stampa. 
(" Nature made him, and then broke the - mold.") 

Italian Adage. 

" The kindly, earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise not blame, 
New birth of our new soil, the first American." 

Lowell. 

" Mr. Lincoln was modest, kind, and unobtrusive, but had nev- 
ertheless sturdy intellectual independence, wonderful self-reliance, 
and, in his unpretending way, great individuality." 

Hon. Gideon Welles. 

Not likely is it there will ever be a generation of 
men on earth that will omit to mention with tender 
reverence the slain President. In him, ruggedness 
was associated with profundit} 7 , and angularity was 
in union with elevation. He had not only great- 
28 



434 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

ness, but goodness also — that which makes human 
character warm. He was at once child-like and 
majestic ; at once the simple-hearted brother of 
men, and the gifted and glorious citizen of his na- 
tion. Was he versed in self-mastery? Who can 
doubt it ? Was his life a vivid illustration of the 
importance of knowing how to be one's own ? Who 
will deny it ? 

Lincoln possessed sterling genius. " Like Crom- 
well and Napoleon," says a noted individual who 
knew him well, " he grew in rugged manhood in 
the world of privacy and experience, and came into 
great affairs wkh powers which scholarship and 
effete rhetoric can never equal." And the same 
person adds the remark, that such men as he are the 
men " whose deeds shadow the imagination with 
divine agency, and whom the philosopher loves to 
contemplate as the highest evolution of nature's 
forces, and the most glorious development of the 
human mind." * The exemplification of genius which 
Lincoln gave, was practical and true. He was nei- 
ther inconsistently eccentric nor unnaturally anoma- 
lous. Genius has sometimes been represented as a 
possession of questionable value. There have been 
those who were disposed to treat it as travelers 
treat the greatest of the Egyptian pyramids — that 
cold pile of stone, the strength and the loftiness of 
which serve the inferior purpose of grandly showing 
to what an extent man can be original without being 
wise, and can be creative without being reasonable. 
But Lincoln's career showed that genius deserves 
not to be disparaged thus ; that it is, forsooth, ever 

* Hon. Cassius M. Clay. Letter in the N. Y. Tribune, 1873. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OE AVAIL. 435 

an excellent bestowment ; that it is innocent of de- 
plorable failings like those of a Tamerlane or a 
Napoleon, a Rousseau or a Byron ; and that the 
random and reckless life of the possessor of genius 
who misapplies his power.-, is not to be charged to 
genius, but to a corrupt self pushed to action by an 
unbending will. It showed, also, that genius is 
never necessarily associated with a stern, egotistical 
grandeur, such as makes ordinary minds crouch and 
feel poor in its presence. "Instead of feeling a 
poverty," says Emerson, " when we encounter a 
great man, let us treat the new-comer like a trav- 
eling geologist who passes through our estate and 
shows us good slate, or anthracite, or limestone, in 
our brush pasture." Lincoln was one of those 
great men that could be thus treated. 

There was, on his part, nothing that seemed in 
conflict with nature. His unpretentiousness was 
like that of the mountains. Honestly did he let 
himself reveal himself, and he deemed it not his 
duty to ask leave to seem to be what he was. All 
eminent men have been delineated by other men 
according as they were viewed from different stand- 
points, or through eyes differently colored by tem- 
perament, prejudice, or culture. Thus he was delin- 
eated. The carping critic, the enthusiastic but un- 
discriminating admirer, and the calm, penetrating, 
educated thinker — each gave his pen-portrait of 
him ; and not too much is it to sa}^, that every such 
representation which was free from the elements of 
caricature, whether it came from an opponent or 
from a panegyrist, had its attraction on account of 
what it suggested in respect to the uniqueness of 



436 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

the man. The studious eye of Nathaniel Hawthorne, 
that rigorously tasteful novelist, once read Lincoln's 
physiognomy, and surveyed his form in " the Presi- 
dent's room," and here is the substance of the 
graphic sketch which resulted : * 

His figure was tall and loose-jointed. He was 
about the homeliest man he (Hawthorne) had ever 
seen, yet was by no means repulsive or disagreeable. 
He appeared the essential representative of all 
Yankees, and the veritable specimen, physically, of 
what the world seems determined to regard as the 
characteristic qualities of Americans. His lengthy 
awkwardness, and the uncouthness of his move- 
ments, were indescribable ; nevertheless it seemed 
to him (Hawthorne) as if he had been in the habit 
of seeing him daily, and had shaken hands with him 
a thousand times in some village street, so true was 
he to the aspect of the pattern American, modified by 
a certain extravagance. If put to guess his calling, 
he (Hawthorne) would have taken him for a country 
schoolmaster, as soon as for anything else. He was 
dressed in a rusty black frock coat and in pan- 
taloons which were unbrushed ; and so faithfully 
had the suit been worn, it had adapted itself to the 
curves and the angularities of his form, and had 
grown to be an outer skin of the man. He had 
shabby slippers on his feet. His hair was black, 
ungrizzled, stiff, and somewhat bushy ; and, that 
morning, it had apparently been acquainted with 
neither brush nor comb, since the disarrangement 
of the pillow. His complexion was dark and sal- 

* The sketch, in its full form, may be found in one of the vol- 
umes of the Atlantic Monthly. 



THE PKIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 437 

low, his eyebrows thick and black, his brow im- 
pending, his nose large, and the lines about his 
mouth very strongly defined. His whole physiog- 
nom} r was as coarse a one as would be met anywhere 
in the length and breadth of the States ; but, withal, 
it was redeemed, illuminated, softened, and bright- 
ened, by a kindly though serious look out of the 
eyes, and an expression of homely sagacity that 
seemed weighted with rich results of village expe- 
rience. He gave indications of being the possessor, 
not of bookish cultivation and not of refinement, 
but of a great deal of native sense, of a thoroughly 
honest heart, and of a tact and a wisdom that were 
akin to craft, and that would have led him to take 
an antagonist in flank rather than in front. On the 
whole, his sallow, queer, sagacious visage, with the 
homely human sympathies that warmed it, was 
pleasing, and was fitted to produce the conviction 
that he was as good a ruler as any man would have 
proved whom it might have been practicable to put 
in his place. 

The views expressed in the foregoing delineation 
were those of a literary man of high aesthetic accom- 
plishment and of exacting sensibility. Let them be 
estimated, reader, only for what they are worth. 

Lincoln's occupancy of the highest position in his 
country did not in the least degree lessen his real 
and peculiar noblemanship. To that position he 
brought a strong, wholesome manhood ; and he kept 
it good. He was at the greatest possible distance 
from exemplifying the effect which exalted office has 
on vain and ill-ballasted minds. He aped no one, 
whether living or dead. Wherever he acted, he 



488 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

acted entirely in a way of his own ; and in whatever 
company he was, he shone in it entirely with a light 
of his own. The true emblem of his soul was 
neither a planet nor a satellite, but a star. And 
Professor Tyndall unwittingly told the style of this 
great civilian, when, in one of his lectures, he said : 

"Every star declares by its light its own undamaged individ- 
uality, as if it alone had sent its thrills through space." 

By fashionable gentlemen, whose excellence, like 
the brightness of the moon, was wholly borrowed, 
he was deemed over-much humorous and unfortu- 
nately odd; and the grand old story-teller of the 
White House was often enough the theme of their 
Lilliputian criticisms. He was indeed humorous ; 
but the considerate observer did not fail to see that 
his expressions of humor had unsounded depths 
beneath them, as is the case with those lusty fishes 
that, from time to time, sportively leap up out of 
the sea. And what wonder was it that so genuine 
and healthy a character had its odd revealings ? To 
criticise him because he had his own ideas and 
fancies, and did not w T ear some other man's pecu- 
liarities, is about as reasonable as it would be to 
find fault with the wind for blowing where it listeth. 
k< To condemn Caiiyle and Macaulay," suggestively 
says Mr. Whipple, " because they do not run their 
thoughts into the molds of Addison and Burke, is 
equivalent to condemning a bear because he does 
not digest stones like an ostrich, or a chicken be- 
cause it goes on two legs instead of four." 

Lincoln was the condensed, matured result of free 
labor, free speech, and free opportunity. From his 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 439 

career the world has learned the lesson, that a 
sturdy rail-splitter on a western prairie and a strong- 
armed sculler of flat-boats on the Mississippi, can 
attain to distinguished elevation without being 
trained in famous halls of learning, and without 
being finished off in circles of fastidious society. 
Though as to all his external characteristics he was 
unrefined and rustic, and though all smoothing pro- 
cesses left him still what Shakespeare calls " a plain, 
blunt man," yet, considered with respect to his 
inner nature, it is certain that no far-sought mine 
of the earth has ever proved richer in gold than he 
was in mental resources. His heart was indigenous 
to the western hemisphere, and was New-World- 
like. Emerson has pronounced him the true repre- 
sentative of the American continent. I call him 
the great, good American, who treated everybody, 
whether black or white, whether poor or rich, as 
his brother. 

In the first part of Victor Hugo's Les 3£iserahles, 
one may find a picture, drawn with the pen, which 
is well adapted to give rise to a conception of a 
character strikingly similar to that of Lincoln. It 
is the picture of the good bishop Myriel. Seeing a 
wealthy but parsimonious man bestowing alms on a 
beggar, he said, " Look at M. Geborand, buying a 
halfpenny's worth of Paradise ! " He taught that 
the least possible amount of sin is the law of man, 
no sin at all the dream of angels. Into the cell of 
a condemned murderer he went, and there taught 
him, there made himself father, brother, and friend 
to him. On the day of that criminal's execution, 
he rode with him in the cart. Mounting the scaf- 



440 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

fold, he stood at his side ; and when the scene was 
over, and he descended from the place of death, 
there was something in his glance which made the 
people open a path for him. In drawing-rooms, it 
was said that his goodness was affectation ; but those 
who knew his heart, and who " did not regard holy 
actions maliciously," tenderly admired him. He 
called himself a physician, having for his patients 
the sick and the unhappy. When a mountain par- 
ish which he had been accustomed to visit was as- 
certained to be frequented by Cravatte and his 
brigand band, he declared the intention to go to it 
without an escort. " Monseigneur, you will not do 
that," said the mayor. He answered, "They want 
to hear about heaven every now and then, and what 
would they think of a bishop who was afraid ? " 
" But, Monseigneur, the brigands!" "Ah," he 
replied, " you are right ; I may meet them. They 
too must want to hear about heaven." " Mon- 
seigneur, they will plunder you." "I have noth- 
ing," said he. " They will kill you." " Nonsense," 
he rejoined ; " what good would that do them ? I 
would ask them for alms for my poor." " Mon- 
seigneur, do not go. In heaven's name, do not, for 
you expose jouv life." " My good sir," said he, " is 
that all ? I am not in this world to save my life, 
but to save souls." Once, while looking on a large, 
black, hairy, and horrible spider, he pathetically 
said to himself, " Poor brute, it is not thy fault." 
He incurred, one day, the pang of a sprain, because 
he did not wish to crush an ant. There was a 
man — Jean Valjean — who, after passing nineteen 
years as a galley-slave, had been set at liberty. At 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 441 

every place in the town where he sought hospitality, 
or begged for shelter, he was turned coldly awa}% 
till he came to this bishop's door. There he was 
received and treated like a man. " Why," asked 
Myriel, "do I want to know your name? Besides, 
before you told it to me, you had one which I 
knew." And he gently assured him that he was 
his brother. What an instance of benevolence, 
wide-reaching and profound ! What an embodiment 
of benignity, unstrained and sweet ! And who can- 
not see that the unselfishness, the kindliness, the 
sympathy — in short, the broad, warm manhood of 
Myriel, was entirely Lincoln-like ? 

That humble yet deep-souled American evidently 
made it the law of his life to be true rather than 
false, to be plain rather than show} r , and to be good 
rather than successful. ' No wintry dignity marked 
his bearing. There was on his part an unmistaka- 
ble grandeur ; but it was ever softened by his mani- 
festations of generous feeling, and ever rendered 
sunny by his genial jovialty. Said he to a friend, 
who visited him at the W T hite House, " I should be 
glad if you would stay and dine with me, but I 
have no idea of what we are going to have for din- 
ner, because when Mrs. Lincoln is away I browse 
around." And one pleasant clay, while walking 
with his secretary, he stopped by the side of a small 
shrub, and looked into it ; then, bending himself 
down, he with the utmost gentleness of manner put 
his hand among the leaves and the twigs, as if to 
take out something that was there. " What do you 
find, Mr. Lincoln ? " asked the secretary.. " Why," 



442 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

he answered, "here is a little bird fallen from its 
nest, and I am trying to put it back again." 

Such was the slain President. So lived that self- 
made nobleman of the prairies, who was 

"Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 



Not forced to frame excuses for his birth." 



XI. 

DEMPSTER.* 



" He fought his doubts and gathered strength, 
He would not make his judgment blind, 
He faced the specters of the mind 
And laid them : thus he came at length 
To find a stronger faith his own." 

Tennyson, In Memoriam. 

He was my friend. Looking back through more 
than a score of years, I recall with reverent emotions 
how, during a period of study under his guidance, 
there came to exist between his soul and mine a 
relationship, such as often, in the groves of ancient 
schools, sprang up between teacher and learner. It 
was not given him to gain a world-wide fame. 
His education, like that of Benjamin Franklin and 
that of Horace Greeley, had to be eked out under 
unpropitious circumstances. He grew to be a noble 
scholar, but lacked the finished accomplishments 

* The Rev. John Dempster, D. D., principal professor of the- 
ology for some years at Concord, N. H., and afterward at Evans- 
ton, 111. He was born January 2, 1794, and died November 28, 
1863. The author was named after him. 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 443 

which result from collegiate culture and from a 
thorough and polishing literary drill. He, however, 
attained a bright eminence, and earned for his 
name a far choicer place in ten thousand mem- 
ories than that which, in this age of hurried lives 
and unserene souls, has been awarded it. I write 
here a monograph of him, in order to show, as in a 
mirror, the fine, unborrowed manhood which he 
made sure to himself by coming to Tcnoiv hoiv to be 
his own. 

His individuality was apparent in all that he did. 
He was ever majestically self-possessed. Whether 
at home or abroad, whether exercising his persuasive 
voice in table-talk or lifting it in prayer, whether 
dealing out ponderous oracles in the lecture-room, 
or using his familiar hoe in the rich loam of his gar- 
den, he had an impressive way which was unique. 
He evinced a character, firmly bottomed and bravely 
built up — a character, the materials of which he 
had carefully selected and tested before using them. 
Never did he seem to lapse from a high and beauti- 
ful mood. There was that on his part which was 
Pythagorean. Accordingly, whenever he acted, 
Avhenever he spoke, and even whenever he simply 
looked, he commanded respect. A self-mastered self 
was habitually revealed by him. He dared to be in 
his own fashion a man ; hence he was often quietly 
defiant of the authority of custom. He taught men, 
by his unpunctiliousness as to matters of garb, that 
he was not to be estimated according to such things 
as an ill-fitting coat or an old-fashioned hat. Re- 
gardless of what any number of persons might 
think, he made his exit from every evening company 



444 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

or party, at nine o'clock, the time when (as he be- 
lieved) people ought to go to bed. 

He was a man of immense intellectual strength, 
and had a noteworthy facility in extemporaneously 
putting it forth. He had genius ; but it was genius 
consecrated to holy ends, and therefore free from 
all wild eccentricities or oddities. His mind was 
uncommonly clear-seeing, as well as uncommonly 
strong. He had not only superior analytic power, 
but also superior synthetic power, and was at once 
an acute metaphysician and a cogent logician. His 
lecture on Divine Providence, delivered at Concord, 
New Hampshire, in 1854, was a powerful exhibition 
of his argumentative ability. Ever were his reason- 
ings condensed and sweeping. Each sentence, in 
one of his logical disquisitions, was a strong part of 
a mighty whole. 

He displayed great richness and beauty in conver- 
sation. With a remarkable ease, he generalized as 
he talked. I have never listened to a man who, in 
a little time, said so much that was worthy to be 
remembered. He helped along the one who hesi- 
tated or stumbled in expression, and, in a short 
finished sentence, uttered all that such a one was 
trying hard to say. He was not less discreet and 
elevated in conversation than he was instructive. 
No hero, it has been said, is a hero to his valet de 
chambre. But Dempster was a man whom, it would 
seem, his most familiar servant must have regarded 
with unbroken reverence. As one would shrink 
from a serpent, so shrank he from vulgarisms. With 
a surprising spontaneit} r , he met one's observations 
or inquiries on any topic, uttering as he did so sen- 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 445 

tences that seemed as if they were at the mo- 
ment coined and evened for immortality. His con- 
stant use of chaste language in which much thought 
was compressed, never had any resemblance to af- 
fectation. He spoke naturally as well as genteelly 
and comprehensively. For him to utter rich say- 
ings was to talk in his easiest manner. It would 
have cost him as much effort to be flippant, as it 
would have cost a gossiping lady of fashion to 
squeeze a word or two of wisdom through her prim 
lips. The father of the present writer used often to 
entertain, at his home in one of the counties of 
Western New York, that excellent man ; and he 
was wont to say of him, that he was the most like 
what Jesus might well be supposed to have been, 
of all the men he had ever seen. Dempster inva- 
riably conversed in a large, manly way. His wit 
was never petty — it was noble. I, have stood at 
his side, on a Saturday afternoon, while, with his 
feet hid in high India-rubber boots, he was digging 
potatoes in his garden, the dark mellow soil of which 
he loved to " tickle with a hoe," and have heard 
him use the words "objective" and "subjective" 
(chosen words with him) jovially, yet with a rare 
suggestiveness. Once, when some one in his class 
asked why it is written of Isaac Newton that, in 
theology, " he went out like a common man," he 
answered, " Probably because he had never attended 
a Biblical Institute." Being, with some visitors, in 
the room where was kept the great Chinese god and 
his black attendant, when allusion was made to the 
god's ornaments, he remarked that, " as the god had 
no intrinsic excellence, the deficiency had to be made 



446 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

up in extrinsic adornment ; " and when he saw one 
of the company examining the god's internal struc- 
ture, he said, " The mysteries are all on the out- 
side." To a young man, who, in proposing to cor- 
respond with him, intimated that he would inclose 
postage stamps, he replied, " Let me have the stamp 
of your mind, and I will not ask for any other." 
On one occasion, while conversing, he said, " A 
man's concealment is often his revealment." Bid- 
ding farewell to a student, he said, " I will make 
you a channel of my kind remembrances to your 
parents." At one time, when the present writer 
informed him that his father had sent, in a letter, a 
word of love for him, he answered, " Tell him, in 
your reply, that I have put it in my bosom ; " and 
at another time, speaking to the present writer, he 
said, " When you write home, fold me up in your 
sheet." In the course of a conversation which oc- 
curred at his house, he referred to American slavery, 
saying, " It is one of the most comprehensive sys- 
tems of villainy ever hatched by depraved minds." 

As a writer, his diction was select and flowing, 
and his ideas and illustrations fresh and original. 
Though he had great readiness in framing musical 
sentences, yet he scarcely ever had a single sentence 
more than was needful. From any one of his pub- 
lished lectures or discourses there may be culled fine 
aphorisms. Notice some specimens : 

" You may as well blot out the sun and hope for the light of day, 
as contract the mind and hope for progress." " Was there ever a 
real worshiper, in any world, without an object invested with his 
own highest qualities — the same in kind, vastly transcending in 
degree? " " Only half the man is availing, who alternately acts 
on competing objects." "The diffused sunbeams may paint the 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 447 

flowers with beauty and enrich the clouds with splendor, but they 
can glow in the melted metal they dissolve, only when converged 
to a point by the lens which collects them." " The determined 
soul, like the well-formed arch, derives strength from the weight 
pressing upon it." 

As a worker, he was a paragon for young men. 
His maxim was, Unity of pursuit. From the 
beginning of his career, he kept true to his aim, and 
was indefatigable in the prosecution of his under- 
takings. Though trammeled by unusual disadvan- 
tages, he rose steadily from obscurity to distinction. 
He became a resolute self-educator, and drilled his 
faculties according to tactics of his own devising. 
Of his time he was as careful as if he deemed every 
moment to be more than golden. He subjected 
himself to a rigid disciplinary procedure. No mere 
luxury was allowed for a moment to divert him. 
He strove continually in two struggles, one of which 
was that of a fighter against poverty, and the other 
that of a fighter for knowledge and qualification. 
After a while, he found that his health was giving 
way. Then he began to maintain an uncommon 
dietetic scrupulosity. He thought to make up, by 
strict regularity and simplicity of living, what he 
must lose by assiduity. It was thus this man grew 
to his greatness. Everything that he could control 
was pressed by him into subservience to his high 
purpose. Said he to the writer, in a letter dated 
June 3, 1858 : 

" It has been the deepest question of my life, how I could best 
combine the greatest self-sacrifice with the utmost efficiency of 
action; and I have felt ennobled as this rule has been my guide." 

All along the path of his endeavors, he economized 
his hours, and practiced a punctuality which was 



448 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

absolute. There were days on which he met his 
class, though suffering an almost intolerable dis- 
tress of body, and though, in order to discharge his 
professorial task, he had to betake himself from a 
process of severe external medical treatment at his 
house. 

Summing up his characteristic traits, I pronounce 
them to have been his brave constancy in educating 
himself in spite of oppressive difficulties, his regular 
and simple style of life, the singleness and the exalt- 
edness of his aim, his individuality, his keenness in 
metaphysical investigation, his condensation and 
sweepingness in dialectic reasoning, his richness, 
chasteness, and dignity in conversation, his original- 
ity in thought and in illustration, his aptitude for 
conciseness in union with a harmonious flowingness 
in composition, and the calm indomitability with 
which he ever held to his course, notwithstanding 
the unfavorable circumstances and the enfeebling 
infirmities wherewith he had to contend. 

In person [I speak of him as he appeared at the 
age of sixty-five years], he bore the marks of un- 
common toils and agonies. A wig covered his head. 
He had the worn and furrowed face of a veteran 
hero. His nose was slightly aquiline. His eyes had 
a bright, winsome luster, which was most clearly 
seen in his moments of eloquence. His voice was 
distinct and melodious. His temperament was the 
nervous-bilious. His complexion was, in a degree, 
saffron-colored and shaded. He was, as to his frame, 
like some honored ship which, after making many 
voyages, after enduring again and again 

" The dread sweep of the down-streaming seas," 



THE PRIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 449 

is about to go forth to brave the beating of the 
winds, the waves, and the billows onee more, when, 
unexpectedly, the might of the elements overcomes 
it, and it gradually and calmly sinks clown, its costly 
and precious freight all being saved. 



XII. 

THE MASTER-SOUL. 

An Ideal Instance wherein many Noble Real Instances 
are Typified. 

..." A king complete 
Within" . . . 

Milton, Paradise Regained. 

Despair, dark-winged, seemed brooding o'er the 
earth, 

Peace sat and sighed, with unnerved, vacant hand ; 
The days went slowly by, and Joy and Mirth 

Had ceased to sing in all the lonely land. 
But suddenly, there echoed wide the voice — 

" Lo ! one hath come who works whate'er he 
wills!" 
Then did men take new courage and rejoice, 

Their hearts upspringing with delightful thrills. 

Another epoch, and a humming scene 

Of prosperous'life cheered hill, and vale, and air ; 
Peace walked erect, and wore a sunny mien, 

And Joy and Mirth breathed music everywhere. 
29 



450 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

That Master-Soul had changed the face of earth, 
Had brought forth beauty, had reduced to form 

The formless, made fine marvels spring to birth, 
And pressed to use the dust, the tide, the storm. 

Like the famed Thunderer of th' Olympian height, — 

Father and king, so called, of gods and men, — 
He dared to test his power by matter's might, 

And to probe deep all mysteries in his ken. 
Viceroy of Nature, he did never fear 

Nature's resistance to his potent will ; 
Things seemed, like men, his presence to revere — 

He conquered, and went on to conquer still. 

He boldly sailed across the treach'rous main, 

And trod upon a new-found, gorgeous coast ; 
The sky he read, and made its mysteries plain — 

He caught the secret of the starry host. 
Earth's hoary strata he explored, and told 

Where slept both minerals rare and ores rich- 
fraught ; 
He traced the proofs, a myriad ages old, 

Of what, ere man was formed, the God-Mind 
thought. 

And, bent on still a mightier life than this, 

He drew the subtile Forces to his side, 
Subdued them by that magic which was his, 

And made them own him as their rightful guide. 
To service great the seething steam he turned ; 

He grasped the lightning, and tied fast its wing, 
And then, that wild, fleet agent'from him learned, 

Thought-freighted messages to bear and bring. 



THE PKIME CONDITION OF AVAIL. 451 

When there was need, he bore the warrior's part, 

And in the fierce fight shrank not from the van ; 
Though others fainted, he kept hope and heart, 

Wielding his tried sword for the rights of man. 
He could not brook to see th' oppressor's yoke 

Galling the poor, or wearying the weak ; 
For wronged men, crying for redress, he spoke 

By deeds — the way the brave are wont to speak. 

And in a strife which was not waged with swords, — 

The bloodless battle of conflicting thought, — 
He spread dismay through Error's vaunting hordes, 

His soul with pure and lofty courage fraught. 
Through Superstition's ranks he dashed right on, 

Sparing no outgrown creed along his way ; 
'Round mitered forms he knew not how to fawn — 

'Twas his to give the world a better day. 

He found high joy in quest of hidden truth — 

Such joy as ne'er was felt in Fashion's halls ; 
In noble searchings he renewed his youth, 

And had no heart to heed vain Pleasure's calls. 
Often when Night's grand stillness was complete, 

He pondered long beneath the wondrous sky, 
And sometimes on the sea-shore took his seat, 

And mused while proud old ships sailed slowly by. 

His calm heart had a worship all its own : 

He sought the place of mighty God-made things, 

And 'mid huge trees and spoils of mountain stone, 
Paid fervent homage to the King of kings. 



452 THE GREAT SLIGHTED FORTUNE. 

Did Nature in her storm-mood o'er him scowl? 

On her he gazed, with child-like wondering look ; 
Unterrified, he heard the tempest's howl, 

And tranquil stood, though earth and ocean shook. 

His words, how small soe'er they were, had weight, 

His presence shed strange richness on the air ; 
And moved were all who met him to relate 

What nameless dignity his brow did wear. 
Had scornful foemen chained his body down, 

Hoping to break his marvelous might of will, 
He would have thrilled them with his kingly frown, 

And proved, though bound, a glorious master still. 

Oh, where art thou, thou Muse of glowing song? 

Have I not watched in silent haunts for thee, 
Pining for lofty inspiration long ? 

And must my hero yet half-honored be ? 
Ah ! who can fully sketch the Master-Soul ? 

The outline can be drawn, and that alone. 
I add the plain conclusion of the whole — 

Wbuldst be most man f Learn how to be thine own. 



THE END. 
















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